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THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 
IN  COLOMBIA 


Cesar,  who  has  since  developed  leprosy. 


“Orchids,  carnations  and  ferns,  making  fairyland  of  our  upper  corridor.” 


A group  of  boys,  Colegio  Americano,  Bogota. 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE- 
IN  COLOMBIA 

BY 

MAUDE  NEWELL  WILLIAMS 

ILLUSTRATED 


“ We  then  that  are  strong  ought  to  bear  the  infirmities  of  the 
weak,  and  not  to  please  ourselves.” 


New  York  Chicago 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

London  and  Edinburgh 


Copyright,  1918,  by 

FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  17  N.  Wabash  Ave. 
London : 21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh : 75  Princes  Street 


TO  MY  HUSBAND, 
THE  MISSIONARY 


FOREWORD 


THIS  little  book  is  not  abstract  and  philo- 
sophical ; it  is  concrete  and  specific. 

If  you  wish  to  learn  of  the  work  being  done 
by  missionaries  in  Colombia,  this  will  not  help  you, 
for  it  does  not  describe  or  recount  that  work ; if  you 
seek  to  know  of  the  resources,  industries  and  pos- 
sibilities of  Colombia,  look  elsewhere,  for  they  are 
not  so  much  as  mentioned  here. 

This  little  book  is  exclusive.  It  might  have  told  of 
the  educated,  refined,  Spanish  peoples  of  Latin 
America,  but  it  does  not ; it  might  have  described 
the  increasing  and  interesting  artisan  class,  but  it 
does  not ; it  might  have  treated  of  the  agricultural 
class — so  much  is  there  to  be  told  of  them, — but  it 
does  not.  Only  of  servants,  and  not  of  all  servants, 
not  even  of  our  neighbors’  servants,  of  whom  we 
have  known  much ; of  our  servants,  yet  not  of  all 
those  who  have  served  us;  of  a few,  then,  of  our 
servants,  is  the  book  written. 

And  the  object?  That  the  thing  we  Anglo  Saxons 
of  North  America  have  so  far  failed  to  do,  we  may 
be  helped  a little  in  learning  to  do ; to  understand 
our  Latin  American  neighbors.  To  do  that  we  must 
see  them  exactly  as  they  are,  and  not  as  we  think 
they  ought  to  be ; we  must  form  a more  correct  con- 
ception of  their  environment  than  most  of  us  now 
possess. 

The  object  is  worthy,  this  little  collection  of  nar- 
ratives, insignificant.  Yet  these  are  true  stories  of 

7 


8 


FOREWORD 


real  people,  and  should  possess  a value  in  revealing 
to  us  the  people.  If  anyone  is  helped  to  see  them  as 
they  are — these  servants  of  Colombia,  typical  of  so 
large  a class, — with  the  difficulties,  the  limitations, 
the  impossibilities  of  their  present  lives,  I shall  feel 
rewarded  for  my  venture. 


Baraboo,  Wis. 


M.  N.  W. 


CONTENTS 


I 

Dominga  .... 

13 

II 

Rosario  .... 

17 

III 

Pabla  

27 

IV 

Cleofa  .... 

4-0 

V 

Bautista  .... 

4-6 

VI 

La  Senorita  Bertilda  Lopez 

51 

VII 

Rosario’s  Vacation  . 

57 

VIII 

Maria  Rodriguez 

61 

IX 

Cesar  .... 

65 

X 

Barbara  .... 

75 

XI 

Encarnacion 

82 

XII 

Luis 

89 

XIII 

Visits 

94 

XIV 

Elvira  and  Luis 

101 

XV 

Socorro  .... 

110 

XVI 

Carmen  .... 

117 

XVII 

In  the  Country 

126 

XVIII 

Cooks  .... 

131 

XIX 

Two  Marias 

141 

XX 

Luis  Leaves  Our  Service 

146 

XXI 

Eldemira  .... 

152 

XXII 

Elvira  .... 

159 

XXIII 

Maria  Jesus 

169 

XXIV 

Jova 

175 

XXV 

Colombian  Servants 

# 

182 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 

Cesar,  who  has  since  developed  leprosy  . . Title 

Orchids,  carnations  and  ferns,  in  our  upper  Cor- 
ridor   Title 

A group  of  boys,  Colegio  Americano,  Bogota  . Title 

Carrying  sugar-cane 18 

Taking  wood  to  the  city  below  ....  18 

Milk-vendors 40 

Rural  homes 40 

Four  hundred  years  of  Spanish  Civilization  and 

yet . . . . - . . .40 

Bertilda  and  the  “ Siwash  ” . . . . .62 

Maria  Rodriguez,  presiding  at  Small  Son’s  third- 

birthday  fiesta 62 

Maria  Jesus  escorts  the  children  to  the  park  . 62 

Teresa,  the  only  Colombia  servant  with  negro 

blood  ever  with  us 62 

“ The  roofs  of  the  houses  of  a whole  block  are 

joined  together  at  all  sorts  of  angles  ” . . 110 

A Street  Scene 110 

Valentine 132 

Hulling  com  for  Arepas  (corn-cakes)  . . . 132 

Eldemira  and  the  children  in  the  country  . . 152 

Bautista  with  three-days-old  Small  Son  . . 152 

A wood-cart .176 

A saw-mill  .........  176 


I 


DOMINGA 

BOGOTA  sits  placidly  nearly  two  miles  above 
the  sea.  It  cuddles  against  mountains  rearing 
their  crests  two  thousand  feet  above  the 
city,  dominating  the  vast  level  plain  that  stretches 
away  at  their  base. 

Although  near  the  equator  this,  because  of  its 
elevation,  is  “ tierra  fria,”  cold  country.  The  air 
produces  a peculiar  light-headed  sensation ; you  are 
almost  certain  that,  if  you  could  raise  your  arms 
and  flap  them  a little,  you  could  sail  away  to  the 
clouds  so  intimately  near.  Chill  and  clammy  are  the 
houses  into  which  no  sun  ever  penetrates ; thin  and 
hot  is  the  air  of  the  sunny  streets.  Thus  we  doff*  our 
shawls  and  overcoats  when  we  go  out  and  don  them 
in  the  unheated  houses. 

There  are  seasons  when  it  rains  every  day.  One 
afternoon  a terrific  tropical  storm  burst  upon  us  in 
all  its  fury.  Long  sheets  of  water,  wind-driven, 
fell  athwart  the  world.  The  pounding  of  it  on  the 
open  brick-floored  patio  was  deafening;  the  dimness 
of  it  hid  the  faces  of  my  pupils  in  a class-room  of  the 
Colegio  Americano  for  Boys. 

Dominga,  the  little  char-woman  who  came  to  us 
for  a day  or  two  each  week,  rushed  unceremoniously 
into  my  presence. 

“ My  Senora,  my  Senora ! ” she  shrieked ; “ those 
children,  they  are  drowning,  drowning ! ” 

13 


14. 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ Dominga,  what  is  the  matter?  What  do  you 
mean?  ” 

“ My  children,  oh  God,  my  children ! ” sobbing 
convulsively.  “ It  makes  so  much  cold  and  dark  in 
the  hut  and  they  both  have  much  catarrh.  This 
morning  the  sun  appeared  so  bright,  so  hot,  I left 
open  the  part  above  of  that  door.  Window  there 
is  none;  when  I shut  both  halves  of  that  door  it  is  of 
a darkness  like  middle  night  in  that  room.  I left 
those  children  in  front  of  the  door  opened  by  the  half 
above  and  now  it  is  raining;  but  how  it  rains!  They 
are  wet  even  now  and  the  hut  is  full  of  water.  They 
are  surely  drowned ! Oh,  Sacred  Mary  ! Oh,  Sacred 
Mary ! ” 

“ Yet  I do  not  understand,  Dominga.  What  have 
you  to  do  with  the  children?  They  cannot  be  yours; 
you  are  just  a girl  yourself.” 

“ Of  course,  my  Senora,  those  children  are  mine.” 
“ I did  not  dream  that  you  had  children ! How 
old  are  they?  ” 

“ Who  knows  ? They  are  but  tiny ; one  commences 
to  walk  a little,  the  other  is  small,  very  small.” 
“And  you  leave  them  alone  in  a hut  all  day? 
Who  cares  for  them  while  you  are  away?  ” 

“Certainly  no  one,  my  Senora.  Who  is  there? 
Of  course  there  is  not  anyone.” 

“ Are  they  not  hungry,  cold?  ” 

“ But  yes,  what  does  that  mean  to  say?  ” 

In  my  simplicity,  for  I had  not  been  long  in  Bo- 
gota, I asked,  “Where  is  their  father,  Dominga?” 
“ Who  knows?  I have  not  seen  him  since  the  most 
little  one  was  born.  He  does  not  come  more.” 

The  woman  was  sent  home  through  the  descending 
floods  and  instructed  to  bring  the  children  when  she 
came  again.  The  next  morning  she  appeared,  carry- 


DOMINGA 


15 


ing  them  both.  Juanito,  the  elder,  with  his  sallow 
pinched  face  and  great  appealing  eyes,  wore  one  dirty 
garment  which  stopped  far  short  of  the  knees. 
Carlito,  starved,  dull  little  scrap  of  humanity,  was 
partially  wrapped  in  the  filthy  rag  of  a shawl.  And 
we  were  shivering  in  our  woolens ! 

The  children  crawled  about  the  kitchen  court  while 
the  little  mother,  content  beaming  from  her  face, 
went  briskly  about  her  work. 

One  morning,  some  months  later,  Pabla,  the 
dining-room  girl,  announced,  “ My  Senora,  in  that 
court  below,  there  is  Dominga.  It  is  very  sick  that 
she  is,  and  who  knows  what  that  is  that  she  has?” 

“ I will  go  to  see,  Pabla.” 

I am  so  capable  of  diagnosing  any  illness ! How- 
ever this  case  did  not  require  an  expert  to  tell  what 
was  the  matter.  There  on  the  floor  huddled 
Dominga ; by  her  side  sprawled  the  two  children 
whom  somehow  she  had  managed  to  drag  on  her 
back  for  more  than  a mile  to  reach  the  Colegio.  No 
need  to  lay  my  hand  upon  her  brow ; one  glance  at 
her  sunken  eyes  and  burning  cheeks  was  enough. 
Who  of  my  readers  can  recognize  the  look  of  star- 
vation in  a human  face?  One  soon  learns  it  in 
Bogota. 

“ Dominga,  when  did  you  eat  last?  ” I asked  her. 

“ It  was  the  Wednesday,  Senora  Mauda,  here  in 
the  house  of  you.  Now  there  is  no  work,  all  those 
families  go  to  the  country  in  this  month.  Nowhere 
have  I work  only  here  with  you,  now  only  one  day 
of  the  week.  In  this  week  I pay  my  rent  with  those 
fifteen  cents  you  paid  me;  since  the  Wednesday  I do 
not  eat.” 

This  was  Sunday ; and  Carlito  depending  upon 
her. 


16 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


We  managed  to  secure  her  a place  in  the  country 
for  a few  months  where  the  children  could  have  fresh 
air  and  freedom  for  play,  if  not  suitable  food. 

Dominga  is  one  of  the  sixty  out  of  every  one 
hundred  in  Colombia  for  whom  there  is  no  marriage. 
No  man  in  this  class  takes  the  slightest  responsibility 
for  the  upbringing  of  a child ; that  is  for  the  mother 
.alone.  There  is  no  home  life.  What  does  this  mean 
for  the  little  mother  who  starves  herself,  works  her- 
self to  death,  for  the  children  she  loves  as  you  and 
I love  ours ; what  does  it  mean  to  the  child,  not  to 
know  a father’s  care  or  discipline ; what  does  it  mean 
to  the  father,  never  to  have  around  him  the  restrain- 
ing influence  of  the  child  and  his  mother,  never  to 
be  called  upon  to  give  an  unselfish  thought  to  the 
welfare  of  a dependent  being? 

No  marriage  among  the  sixty  per  cent;  why?  It 
is  not  the  province  of  this  little  narrative  to  explain 
the  why  and  wherefore  of  things.  For  one  who  de- 
mands reasons  for  the  conditions  existing  in  Latin 
America  there  are  not  lacking  learned  treatises, 
easy  of  consultation,  which  devote  to  the  subject  a 
discussion  worthy  of  it.  Here  we  deal  with  results, 
not  with  causes. 


II 


ROSARIO 

WITH  but  three  months  of  Spanish  to  our 
credit  we  had  taken  charge  of  the  Boys’ 
School.  Along  with  the  school  there  had 
descended  to  us  as  cook,  Rosario,  and  her  six-year-old 
daughter.  Squat  and  grossly  stout  was  Rosario,  less 
coppery  in  color  than  some  mestizos,  betraying  the 
Indian  blood  principally  by  her  tiny  half-shut  eyes. 

Spanish  as  I knew  it  in  those  first  months  was 
culled  from  grammars,  and  Spanish  as  Rosario 
spoke  it  was  to  be  found  in  no  dictionary  or  grammar 
under  the  sun ; hence  some  of  our  conversations  wrere 
ludicrous  to  an  extreme.  One  of  my  duties  each 
evening  was  to  furnish  her  a list  of  the  things  and  in- 
dicate the  quantity  of  each  that  I thought  would  be 
needed  for  the  next  day’s  meals.  Since  I knew  noth- 
ing of  Spanish  cooking,  less  of  the  preferences  of 
our  boarding  boys,  and  still  less  of  the  prices  of 
things  in  the  plaza,  this  duty  caused  me  much 
worry.  Why  not  let  the  woman  make  her  own  list? 
Very  few  Colombian  cooks,  and  only  those  long 
trained  to  it,  are  able  to  make  their  market  lists. 
Rosario  decidedly  was  not. 

She  could  not  read  or  write  a word,  yet  in  some 
respects  her  ability  surpassed  yours  or  mine.  Each 
evening  having  worked  out  the  market  list  with  the 
assistance  of  the  dictionary  and  of  one  of  the  board- 
ing boys,  I read  to  her  the  numerous  vegetables  and 

17 


18 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


groceries  that  I had  decided  upon  for  the  early  morn- 
ing marketing.  The  next  day  I produced  the  list  and 
checked  up  her  purchases.  Not  one  time  in  ten  did 
she  forget  a single  item;  not  one  time  in  twenty  did 
she  neglect,  when  reporting  its  cost,  to  add  a centavo 
or  two  to  each  purchase.  Her  brain  was  nimble, 
too,  in  the  addition  of  the  sums  of  money  paid  out. 
The  ten  or  twelve  cents  thus  gained  daily  by  pre- 
tending a higher  cost  than  she  had  paid  gave  her 
a neat  little  sum  for  her  daily  chicha  (beer). 

Another  source  of  revenue  had  she.  As  she  left 
for  the  market  before  daylight  she  was  entrusted 
with  a key  to  the  front  (and  only)  door  of  the 
Colegio.  Twice  each  day,  an  hour  before  the  eleven- 
o’clock  breakfast  and  again  before  the  six-o’clock 
dinner,  I counted  out  a medium-sized  potato  for  each 
member  of  the  household  and  an  equal  number  of 
small  potatoes  to  go  into  the  soup.  Rosario  had  a 
custom  of  subtly  preparing  the  largest  of  the  small 
potatoes  for  the  table,  thus  robbing  the  soup  of  its 
due  proportion  of  starch,  while  she  hid  the  largest 
of  the  large  potatoes.  From  time  to  time  she  stole 
out  under  the  cover  of  darkness  carrying  beneath 
her  shawl  a little  basket  filled  with  good-sized  pota- 
toes, perhaps  a slab  or  two  of  chocolate  or  a few 
breads  upon  which  she  had  managed  to  get  her 
hands.  These  things  she  sold  at  the  corner  tienda. 

Two  dollars  a month  was  all  that  I paid  the 
woman ; yet  Colombian  senoras  complain  that  the 
foreign  mistresses  spoil  all  service  by  overpaying 
their  servants.  Who  would  not  wink  at  pilfering 
when  wages  so  grind  the  faces  of  the  poor? 

A stove  in  Colombia  is  merely  a brick  table  built 
solid  to  the  floor  on  one  side  of  a dark  little  kitchen. 
This  table  is  three  feet  high  and  three  feet  wide.  At 


Sugar-cane. 


Carrying  wood  to  the  city  below.  The  center  figure  has  two  mule-loads. 


ROSARIO 


19 


intervals  holes  in  the  table-top  occur  and  extend 
about  half  way  to  the  floor  where  they  open  to  the 
front.  These  are  the  drafts.  Across  the  top  of  the 
openings  bricks  are  set  on  edge  to  form  grates.  On 
these,  pieces  of  charcoal  or  fagots  of  wood  are  laid 
and  puffed  into  blaze  by  use  of  the  bellows.  Kettles 
are  balanced  on  the  charcoal  and  the  kitchen  equip- 
ment is  complete.  It  is  a simple  matter  for  one  piece 
of  charcoal  to  burn  more  rapidly  than  the  others 
and  to  crumble  away,  which  causes  the  kettles  to 
topple  and  their  contents  to  spill  over  the  fire,  rais- 
ing a cloud  of  cinders  and  ashes  which  descends  into 
the  cooking  food,  thus  spoiling  the  portion  that  re- 
mains in  the  kettle.  There  is  no  oven,  no  chimney. 
Close  beneath  the  ceiling  above  the  “ fireplace,”  as 
this  table  is  called,  is  an  opening  in  the  wall,  two  feet 
wide  and  extending  the  whole  length  of  the  wall. 
Through  this,  part  of  the  smoke  escapes,  the  most  of 
it  remaining  in  the  room  to  blacken  the  walls  and  to 
stifle  the  cook.  The  kitchen  has  no  window  and  but 
one  small  door  opposite  the  fireplace;  more  openings 
would  interfere  with  the  draft. 

In  this  dark  room  little  Noma,  Rosario’s  daughter, 
crouched  most  of  the  time.  She  was  not  apportioned 
rations  as  were  the  rest  of  the  household,  Rosario 
continually  assuring  me  that  it  was  unnecessary. 
Noma  lived  off  scraps,  and  was  clothed  from  scraps 
begged  from  “ my  Senora.”  To  judge  from  appear- 
ance neither  she  nor  her  clothing  was  ever  washed. 
Rosario  herself  showed  so  intimate  an  acquaintance 
with  dirt  and  grease  that  my  standing  quarrel  with 
her  was  on  the  subject  of  cleanliness. 

Her  love  of  drink  proved  the  woman’s  pitfall.  She 
tippled  all  the  time,  drank  heavily  on  many  occa- 


20 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


sions  and  was  drunk  frequently.  In  my  periodic 
digging  out  of  the  kitchen  often  would  I unearth, 
along  with  the  perfectly  good  kettles  consigned  to 
oblivion  because  “ they  are  so  dirty  they  serve  no 
more,”  villainous  looking  bottles  that  would  threaten 
the  peace  of  any  household. 

Rosario  had  two  hours  off  each  Sabbath  afternoon 
with  the  invariable  result  that  if  we  had  any  dinner 
(and  boarding  boys  must  always  be  fed),  I had  to 
assist  the  poor  stumbling  drunken  creature  to  pre- 
pare it.  In  desperation  I took  away  her  two  hours 
off ; if  she  could  not  come  home  in  better  condition 
she  should  stay  shut  into  the  servants’  room,  a 
dark,  empty  cubby-hole,  all  the  long  sunny  after- 
noon. One  Sunday  she  stayed.  At  dinner  she  sur- 
prised me  by  serving  to  me  alone  a special  little 
dainty.  While  the  coals  of  fire  thus  heaped  on  my 
head  were  burning  nicely  she  came  whimpering  to 
be  allowed  “ one  only  little  hour  in  the  street  in 
which  to  walk  but  the  tiniest  little.” 

Of  course  she  had  her  little  hour.  Two  hours, 
three  hours,  passed  and  no  Rosario.  I heard  Noma 
crying,  alone  and  frightened  in  the  servants’  room, 
so  brought  her  upstairs.  I was  anticipating  the 
worst  from  Rosario,  when  it  burst  upon  us;  such  a 
pounding  at  the  street-door  that  only  oak  planks 
could  have  resisted  its  violence.  The  Missionary 
hurried  down  to  open  the  door,  Noma  and  I rushed 
out  into  the  corridor  and  hung  over  the  balustrade. 

“ Go  back  into  the  library  and  shut  the  door,” 
peremptorily  ordered  the  Missionary.  “ Take  Noma 
with  you  and  keep  her  there.” 

Startled  I obeyed.  Then  ensued  a heavy  dragging 
noise  which  was  unmistakable.  Down  the  length  of 
the  lower  corridor  it  echoed  until  it  came  to  a stop 


ROSARIO 


21 


In  the  servants’  room.  A restless  half  hour  later 
the  Missionary  joined  us  in  the  library. 

“ Disgusting  business,”  he  ejaculated.  “ The 
woman  is  drunk,  as  dead  as  a log.  A policeman 
found  her  in  the  gutter  six  blocks  from  here  and, 
recognizing  her,  hauled  her  all  the  way  home  by 
her  feet.  The  skin  is  worn  completely  off  one  side 
of  her  face  where  he  dragged  her  over  the  cobble- 
stones. Think  of  it;  that  ponderous  body  dragged 
by  her  feet ! It  is  a wonder  it  did  not  kill  her.  If 
she  recovers  she  will  be  a hideous  sight  forever. 
Don’t  let  Noma  go  downstairs  tonight;  let  her  sleep 
here  in  the  library.” 

Privately,  as  I waited  upon  the  forlorn  creature, 
I resolved  that  Rosario  should  seek  a new  situation 
as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  leave  the  house;  but  a 
week  with  no  cook  at  all,  or  a different  one  from  the 
street  for  each  meal,  weakened  my  resolution.  I 
decided  to  renew  my  patience  with  Rosario.  Per- 
haps I could  yet  help  her  to  reform.  I realized,  too, 
that  the  Missionary  Lady  in  the  Girls’  School  across 
the  city  spoke  the  truth  when  she  said,  “ After  all, 
Rosario  is  virtuous  and  you  might  be  much  worse 
off  if  you  let  her  go.”  Rosario  virtuous ! Of  a truth, 
how  our  charity  increases  when  we  change  con- 
tinents ! 

The  poor  woman  became  forever  grateful  to  us 
for  our  forbearance.  She  never  thanked  us  in 
words,  but  her  devotion  was  a thing  at  which  to 
marvel. 

One  day  she  came  to  ask  me  how  I wished  the 
potatoes  prepared  for  breakfast,  made  into  balls  and 
fried  in  deep  fat  or  served  in  Saratoga  chips  as 
usual.  Feeling  that  I could  not  absorb  any  more 
lard  if  I starved  instead,  I replied  that  it  did  not 


22 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


matter ; the  boys  liked  them  either  way  and  I should 
not  eat  any  myself. 

At  breakfast,  with  much  ceremony  and  an  air  of 
great  mystery,  Pabla  brought  in  and  set  before  me 
a plate  containing  a brownish,  stickyish-looking 
mixture  which  I could  not  cut  with  my  knife.  Grin- 
ning broadly  she  insisted  upon  my  tasting  the  con- 
coction. 

“ But  what  is  it,  Pabla?  ” 

“ A thing  very  good.  A thing  for  my  Senora  if 
she  has  not  so  great  an  appetite.  But  prove  it.” 

The  Missionary  and  the  boarding  boys  watched  to 
see  what  I might  do.  It  would  have  taken  a braver 
person  than  I am  to  have  tasted  so  nauseous  a dish 
without  knowing  what  it  was. 

“ Pabla,  unless  you  tell  me  what  this  is,  I shall 
not  taste  it.” 

“ It  is  that  Rosario  has  much  sympathy  for  the 
Senora  for  that  she  is  not  able  to  eat  her  rice  and 
those  potatoes.  Rosario  herself  was  it  who  went  to 
the  street  for  the  purpose  of  buying  the  blood  of  a 
goat  which  is  now  fried  for  my  Senora.  It  is  most 
strengthening,  most  delicious,  ah,  but  how  much  so  ! ” 

The  boys  laughed  and  the  Missionary  looked 
amused  but  the  servants  were  disappointed,  not  to 
say  disgusted,  because  I sent  the  dainty,  untasted, 
back  to  the  kitchen. 

I had  taken  from  Rosario  the  privilege  of  going 
out  Sunday  afternoons  and  it  was  several  weeks 
after  her  escapade  before  she  asked  for  any  hours 
off.  Then  she  fawningly  begged  permission  to  go 
after  breakfast  to  make  some  necessar}7  purchases 
for  herself  and  Noma. 

“The  Doctor”  (the  Missionary)  “told  me  that 
he  goes  to  put  Noma  into  those  classes  that  she 


ROSARIO 


23 


learns  to  read.  Then  I buy  her  sandals  that  she 
looks  respectable,  if  my  Senora  does  me  the  favor 
so  great  to  let  me  go  for  a little  hour.” 

“ And  after  the  little  hour,  Rosario?  ” 

“ Then  I return,  to  be  sure.  I prepare  that  din- 
ner, as  always.  My  sister  it  is  that  accompanies  me 
and  she  does  not  take”  (drink).  “She  it  is  that 
helps  me  hurry  myself.” 

Concealing  my  smile  at  the  mental  vision  of 
waddling  old  Rosario  hurrying  herself,  I gave  her 
the  money  she  asked  for  and  told  her  that  she  might 
go  for  an  hour.  Two  hours  later  I went  down- 
stairs to  unlock  and  set  out  the  afternoon  lunch 
for  the  boys,  planning  on  going  directly  to  the 
kitchen  to  commence  the  preparation  of  the  dinner, 
since  I had  no  expectation  of  seeing  Rosario  again 
that  afternoon.  As  I entered  the  dining-room  there 
in  the  corridor  stood  the  cook,  her  mutilated  face 
distorted  by  a smile. 

“ Why,  Rosario,  have  you  not  gone  yet?  ” I asked 
in  surprise. 

“ Of  course,  my  Senora,  I have  been,  I have 
returned.  Allow  me  one  little  favor  more,”  and  she 
shuffled  off  to  the  kitchen. 

I went  on  upstairs  wondering  what  the  woman  could 
possibly  want  now.  A few  moments  later  she  lum- 
bered up  the  narrow  stairs  and  pushed  through  the 
doorway,  bearing  a large  tray  laden  with  eight 
choice  varieties  of  bananas.  With  much  gracious- 
ness and  with  horrible  twistings  of  her  features  she 
presented  me  the  fruit  as  a token  of  gratitude  for 
her  hour  off.  My  reward  was  so  out  of  proportion 
to  my  deserts  that  I was  speechless. 

With  a show  of  anxiety,  she  inquired,  “ It  appears 
to  my  Senora  that  I was  very  late?  ” 


24< 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ Oh,  no,  Rosario,  you  returned  promptly,  but 
you  should  not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  bring  me 
all  this  nice  fruit.  However,  I thank  you  sincerely.” 
“ For  nothing,  my  Senora.  Those  thanks  are  all 
mine  that  the  Senora,  so  good,  should  accept  my 
unworthy  gift  and  I implore  her  to  pardon  me  if  I 
was  late.” 

I did  not  tell  her  I was  so  relieved  that  she  had 
returned  at  all  and  able  to  stand  that  I could  have 
forgiven  her  a great  tardiness. 

One  morning  the  Missionary  returned  from  an 
errand  in  the  street  and  asked  me  to  send  for 
Rosario.  She  came  into  our  presence,  looking 
startled  but  saying  nothing.  The  Missionary  held 
in  his  hand  the  market  list  for  the  day  as  he  said: 
“You  bought  sixteen  dozen  eggs  this  morning; 
what  did  you  pay  for  them?  ” 

“ Doctor,  the  Senora  and  I,  already  have  we 
arranged  all  that  from  the  plaza.” 

“ Yes,  but  I wish  to  hear  what  you  paid  for  those 
eggs.” 

“ That  which  I said  to  Senora  Mauda ; two  cents 
each  egg.” 

“ I have  just  come  from  the  plaza  and  I priced 
eggs.  They  offered  me  all  there  were  in  the  market 
at  one  and  seven ; I could  have  secured  them  at  one 
and  six,  or  even  at  one  and  five,  a cent  and  a half 
per  egg.  That  means  that  they  are  selling  at  from 
eighteen  to  twenty  cents  a dozen  and  you  are  charg- 
ing the  Senora  twenty-four  cents  a dozen.” 

“ And  what  is  it  that  I know  about  those  dozens? 
I know  nothing  of  dozens ; I paid  two  cents  for  each 
of  those  egg s.  It  is  a good  class  of  egg  that  I buy, 
not  those  eggs  carried  for  many  days  from  far  away. 
I buy  the  good  eggs.” 


ROSARIO 


25 


“ And  at  most  you  do  not  pay  over  one  and 
seven — a cent  and  seven-tenths  per  egg.  Hand  over 
to  the  Senora  the  money  you  have  kept  back.” 

But  this  she  would  not  do.  She  departed, 
grumbling  that  she  had  paid  two  cents — well,  that 
was  what  she  had  paid,  anyway. 

“ She  probably  did  not  pay  over  a cent  and  a 
half  for  the  eggs,”  the  Missionary  remarked.  “ They 
charge  me  more  than  they  would  think  of  asking 
her  because  they  know  that  I am  a foreigner  and 
will  not  haggle  with  them  as  she  does.  She  has  made 
sixty  or  eighty  cents  out  of  you  today  on  the  eggs 
alone.'  Of  course  it  must  be  put  up  with  while  neither 
of  us  is  able  to  go  to  the  market  with  her  and  keep 
watch  of  her  buying.” 

That  very  morning  at  breakfast  the  boiled  egg 
served  the  Missionary  “ came  out  bad,”  and  he 
arose  from  the  table  and  went  to  his  office  without 
having  tasted  a mouthful  of  breakfast.  I wondered 
what  were  Rosario’s  feelings  when  Pabla  reported 
the  occurrence  to  her. 

Valentine,  like  Rosario,  was  a left-over  from  our 
predecessors  when  we  came  into  possession  at  the 
Colegio.  He  was  a lank  loose-limbed  boy  of  sixteen, 
who  looked  as  though  he  had  never  in  his  life  had 
a full  satisfying  meal.  Barefooted,  he  was  clad  in 
tattered,  beltless  trousers  which  extended  three 
inches  below  the  knees,  and  which  were  surmounted 
by  a calico  garment  that,  before  ever  it  had 
descended  to  him,  had  done  its  full  duty  as  a 
woman’s  blouse.  Both  garments  had  been  patched 
and  the  patches  patched  (Valentine  had  a mother!) 
until  most  of  the  colors  and  materials  known  to  man 
could  be  made  out  on  that  one  gawky  figure. 

The  heavy  dullness  of  Valentine’s  face  was  partly 


26 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


relieved  by  the  steady  look  from  his  quiet  eyes,  which 
held  the  expression  of  a faithful  dog.  Faithful  was 
the  word  for  Valentine — faithful  and  reliable.  I 
often  wondered,  although  I never  paused  in  my  busy 
round  to  count,  how  many  times  each  day  he 
stumbled  up  the  steep  crooked  back  stairs,  tugging 
pails  of  water  with  which  to  refresh  the  long  rows 
of  orchids,  carnations  and  ferns,  making  fairyland 
of  our  upper  corridor.  No  one  ever  reminded  him, 
“Valentine,  here  is  a plant  that  needs  water”;  oh, 
you  who  have  lived  in  South  America,  take  note  of 
such  devotion  to  duty ! Were  there  errands  to  be 
done, — a note  to  be  taken  to  a parent  (the  Colegio 
had  no  telephone),  a spool  of  thread  or  an  extra 
basket  of  charcoal  to  be  bought, — “ Valentine,  Valen- 
tine, where  is  Valentine?  ” was  the  cry  raised. 

So  honest  and  painstaking  was  he  that  we  felt 
he  deserved  a chance  in  life,  so  the  Missionary 
decreed  that  the  demands  upon  the  boy’s  time  should 
be  fewer  in  number  and  he  should  enter  the  primary 
grade  of  the  school  and  learn  to  read  and  write. 
This  was  a great  and  unusual  privilege  to  grant  to 
one  of  his  class  and  he  was  appreciative  of  it.  We 
secured  him  clothes  which,  if  they  were  not  much  of 
an  improvement  in  fit,  at  least  were  more  of  a same- 
ness in  color  and  texture  than  the  original  suit. 

When  Valentine  left  us  some  years  later  it  was 
to  be  apprenticed  to  learn  a trade  at  which  a man 
in  Colombia  may  at  least  keep  himself  alive. 


Ill 


PABLA 

PABLA,  with  eyes  and  hair  of  the  deep,  dead 
black  of  midnight,  with  swarthy  skin,  came 
nearer  being  Indian  than  any  other  servant 
I ever  had.  Broad-chested,  thick-necked,  with  a 
round  little  head  carrying  one  of  the  pleasantest  of 
faces,  the  woman  wearied  me  with  her  eternal  good- 
nature. Her  spirits  were  like  a geyser,  forever 
bubbling  up  and  overflowing  at  any  and  at  all  times. 
No  one  has  the  right  to  go  through  life  with  nothing 
and  be  so  utterly  carefree.  Of  course  she  drank 
and  that  deeply,  but  she  w as  never  drunk ; the  more 
she  imbibed,  the  wider  she  stretched  her  extensive 
mouth  in  grins  as  she  incessantly  rattled  off  what 
were  intended  as  pleasantries.  She  was  even  farther 
than  Rosario  from  being  neat ; the  untidiness  of  the 
house  served  as  a thorn  in  my  flesh  until  I decided 
that  I had  perfected  myself  in  the  grace  of  patience. 
Then  I dismissed  Pabla. 

A wearisome  month  dragged  by.  Most  of  the 
time  there  was  no  dining-room  girl,  part  of  the  time 
there  were  three  or  four  in  one  day.  A large  share 
of  the  napkins  and  tableware  disappeared  with  the 
various  applicants.  Regularly  each  Sabbath  after- 
noon Pabla  appeared,  as  bright  and  fresh  as  a peony, 
red  ribbons  gayly  bobbing,  as  she  extended  La  Senora 
a peace-offering  in  the  shape  of  a great  tray  of  bril- 
liant-hued  flowers. 


27 


28 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ You’d  better  give  her  another  trial,”  remarked 
the  Missionary  on  the  fourth  Sunday.  “ It  cannot 
be  worse  than  it  is  now.” 

Triumphant  was  her  re-entrance.  She  was  so 
happy  that  if  the  dining-room  was  mussy  or  the 
parlor  undusted  I pretended  to  be  oblivious  of  it. 
In  her  way  she  worked  hard  with  apparently  no 
thought  beyond  that  of  spending  herself  for  us ; her 
devotion  and  willingness  covered  a multitude  of  her 
sins  of  inefficiency. 

The  routine  of  our  days  is  of  this  sort:  after  the 
six-o’clock  morning  coffee  I go  downstairs,  unlock 
the  cupboard  and  lay  out  bread  and  chocolate  for 
each  boarding  boy  and  each  servant,  relock  the  cup- 
board and  return  to  our  rooms  on  the  second  floor. 
Directly  Pabla  follows  me  upstairs. 

“ My  Senora  now  thinks  in  sending  Valentine  for 
that  bread?  ” 

“Not  now,  Pabla.  It  is  not  yet  time  for  that; 
he  cannot  go  for  an  hour  and  he  is  in  class.  You 
must  not  disturb  him.” 

“ Then  what  hour  may  it  be,  Senora  Mauda?  ” 

Being  informed,  she  departs.  Not  one  in  three  of 
the  servant  class  can  tell  time  from  a clock. 

I sit  down  to  study  Spanish  and  ten  minutes  pass 
while  I wonder  what  the  boys  are  shouting  over  and 
if  the  teachers  are  as  late  this  morning  as  usual. 
All  classes  open  at  seven  and  in  a country  where 
sunrise  is  at  six  practically  every  day  in  the  year 
it  is  not  easy  for  anyone  to  be  on  time  at  so  early 
an  hour.  Here  is  Pabla! 

“ Is  it  possible  that  Senora  Mauda  does  us  the 
favor  of  descending  to  the  kitchen?  Rosario  comes 
from  the  market.” 

I go  to  the  kitchen  at  once,  and  carefully  inspect 


PABLA 


29 


the  cook’s  purchases ; thirty  little  handfuls  of  all 
sorts  of  stuff  known  and  unknown  to  me;  rows  of 
tiny  bundles  wrapped  in  leaves,  neatly  folded  away 
from  sight  if  not  from  smell;  eggs,  tied  four  in  a 
row,  each  in  its  little  cell  of  dried  corn  leaf ; lard, 
done  up  like  sausages  and  bought  by  the  string; 
leaves,  seeds,  bark,  roots, — what  does  not  serve  as 
food  in  the  deft  hands  of  a Colombian  cook? 

The  woman  fingers  over  each  purchase  and  men- 
tions the  price  that  she  paid;  I add  mentally  and 
make  the  total  result  in  the  two  and  one-half  or 
three  dollars  that  she  was  given  to  spend.  I look 
at  her  sharply  in  an  effort  to  read  how  much  money 
she  has  in  the  depths  of  her  large  pocket,  for  both 
of  us  understand  that  she  derives  a steady  income 
from  the  marketing.  Her  twinkling  little  eyes  hold 
a look  of  cunning  but  her  face  is  as  innocent  as  a 
fresh  May  morning. 

As  I unlock  the  coal-bin  and  watch  her  measure 
out  the  charcoal,  I remark  that  she  may  send  Pabla 
upstairs  at  once  for  the  supplies  she  needs  from  the 
store-room.  Keys  in  hand  I await  the  woman  ten 
minutes.  Why  attempt  to  study  when  I expect  her 
any  moment? 

Here  she  comes  at  last,  carrying  two  bowls,  a 
platter  and  a basket.  The  padlock  of  the  store-room 
door  refuses  to  yield  to  the  key.  I struggle,  Pabla 
struggles,  and  finally  she  goes  down  to  the  Mis- 
sionary’s office  to  bring  him  to  apply  his  brain  and 
brawn  to  the  task.  The  door  opened,  he  renews  his 
promise  to  secure  a new  padlock  and  returns  to  his 
waiting  class.  I get  down  on  my  knees  to  count  out 
the  potatoes,  climb  into  a chair  to  reach  the  rice 
which  I measure  by  handfuls,  give  out  a chunk  of 
black  rock  salt,  a cup  of  green  coffee  berries,  a few 


30 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


ears  of  corn  for  grinding,  a handful  of  wheat  for 
thickening  soup, 

“Is  that  absolutely  all  that  is  needed?”  I ask 
as  I tuck  away  what  I had  laid  aside  from  Rosario’s 
purchases  to  be  brought  up  to  the  store-room. 

“ Of  course,  without  doubt  it  is,  my  Senora.” 

I return  to  my  desk,  find  my  place,  commence  a 
translation.  Here  is  Pabla  again  ! 

“ It  is  that  Rosario  forgets  that  macaroni  which 
she  needs.” 

I drop  my  work,  go  for  my  keys,  tackle  the  pad- 
lock. After  several  vexatious  attempts  it  yields  and 
I take  out  the  macaroni.  Again  I seat  myself  at 
work,  listening  continually  for  Pabla’s  heavy  step 
on  the  stair,  for  she  is  certain  to  have  forgotten 
something  else.  It  is  sugar.  I hunt  up  the  hammer, 
the  butcher-knife,  some  clean  paper  to  spread  over 
the  table,  and  lift  the  twenty-four  pound  cake  of 
dark  sugar  on  to  the  table.  Laboriously,  with  the 
knife  and  the  hammer  to  drive  it,  I hack  off  a few 
pieces  which  Pabla  bobs  around  to  pick  up  as  they 
fly  about  the  room.  We  gather  up  the  crumbs  and 
she  departs  while  I restore  the  cake  of  sugar  to  the 
shelf  and  lock  it  up. 

A few  minutes  later  it  is  more  salt,  or  an  egg, 
“ one  egg  came  out  bad.”  Were  I to  deal  out  these 
supplies  before  they  are  needed  they  would  be  wasted 
or  sold  in  the  street.  In  order  to  keep  the  income 
of  the  school  on  speaking  acquaintance  with  the 
outgo  it  is  necessary  to  watch  every  expenditure 
most  carefully.  Here  is  Pabla  at  my  elbow. 

“ And  now,  my  Senora,  has  the  hour  come  for  send- 
ing Valentine  for  that  bread?  ” 

“ Yes,  Pabla.  Call  him.” 

He  comes,  gravely  receives  his  instructions  and  the 


PABLA 


31 


money,  takes  his  basket  and  departs.  Within  fifteen 
minutes  he  is  back,  and  I count  the  buns ; one  hun- 
dred fifty,  two  hundred,  two  hundred  ten, — no  real 
loaves  are  baked  unless  specially  ordered.  Valentine 
is  the  only  one  whom  I can  trust  to  bring  me  change 
and  he  cannot  do  it  unless  I impress  it  upon  him 
again  and  again  just  what  sum  he  is  to  bring.  His 
coins — half-cents,  cents,  two-and-a-half  cents — are 
counted  and  found  to  be  correct. 

He  takes  two  pitchers  and  goes  for  the  milk, 
returns ; the  milk  is  brought  to  me  for  inspec- 
tion. 

“ Valentine,  there  appears  to  be  a little  less  milk 
than  usual.  Why?” 

“ My  Senora,  it  is  possible  that  a few  drops  of 
that  milk  fell  in  the  street,”  said  with  quiet  indif- 
ference. 

“ Oh,  Valentine,  you  must  not  spill  milk  that 
costs  as  much  as  this  does ! I fear  that  I shall  have 
to  send  you  for  another  pint  as  here  is  not  enough 
for  the  boys’  coffee.” 

Back  he  goes ; ten  minutes  later  I gravely  inspect 
the  pint,  and  he  returns  to  the  class-room.  A half 
hour  races  by,  and  here  is  Pabla,  lumbering  up  the 
steep  stairs  again. 

“ My  Senora,  Rosario  sends  me  to  say  to  you  that 
that  milk  fell  down  in  boiling.  One  little  minute  was 
it  that  Rosario  comes  into  the  dining-room  to  say 
to  me  a thing  that  she  heard  in  the  plaza  and  that 
milk  fell  over  in  cooking.  She  runs,  I run ; but  now 
there  is  a lack  of  milk.  She  tells  me  to  say  to  you 
that  if  you  will  do  the  favor  so  great  of  sending 
Valentine  for  more  milk  you  may  put  that  charge 
against  her  account.” 

“ I will  pay  for  the  extra  milk,  but  I do  wish  that 


32 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Rosario  would  not  let  it  boil  over  or  tip  over  every 
morning.  Please  send  me  Valentine.” 

Ten  minutes  later  Pabla  appears  to  ask  if  it  is 
time  for  Rosario  to  put  the  vegetables  on  the  fire ; 
fifteen  minutes  later  to  remark,  gazing  nonchalantly 
at  the  ceiling: 

“ My  Senora  forgets  to  come  to  take  out  that 
fruit  for  the  breakfast.” 

“ Oh,  no,  Pabla,  I forgot  nothing.  It  is  not  yet 
time  to  do  that.” 

At  half  past  ten  I descend  to  the  dining-room, 
unlock  the  cupboard  and  count  out  pieces  of  fruit 
to  lay  beside  each  plate,  inspect  the  table,  remind 
Pabla  of  the  napkins  and  straighten  them  out  for 
her  as  she  cannot  read  the  names  on  the  rings,  hunt 
up  the  missing  chairs,  help  Rosario  to  dish  up  the 
soup  evenly,  peep  into  the  coffee-pot  and  the  milk- 
pots  to  see  that  all  flies  have  been  rescued  from  a 
boiling  death,  and  ring  the  breakfast  bell. 

The  boys  march  in  and  stand  behind  their  chairs 
while  grace  is  said.  As  usual  the  Missionary  is 
detained  in  his  office  by  callers  and  I send  his  food 
back  to  the  kitchen.  Mentally,  sometimes  physically, 
also,  I help  Pabla  serve  the  meal.  The  food  for 
the  servants  is  apportioned  and  sent  to  the  kitchen, 
that  for  the  beggars  dished  up  and  despatched  to 
the  pitiful  line  squatting  in  the  zaguan  (vestibule). 
Breakfast  is  over ! 

At  two  the  chocolate  and  bread  is  counted  out  for 
the  afternoon  lunch.  As  we  never  know  in  advance 
whether  two  or  thirty  of  the  day-pupils  are  going 
to  take  this  lunch  with  us,  we  frequently  find  our- 
selves short  of  bread  and  Valentine  is  again 
despatched  to  the  bakery.  At  four  we  commence 
again  to  try  to  get  to  Rosario  the  supplies  she  needs 


PABLA 


33 


for  the  preparation  of  the  six-o’clock  dinner.  As 
sure  as  I have  callers  in  the  afternoon,  so  certain  is 
Pabla  to  appear  to  beg  more  charcoal;  Rosario 
underestimated  her  need.  At  eight  a bread  and  a 
sweet  are  set  out  for  everybody  in  the  house  and  I 
sigh  with  relief  as  I realize  that  all  for  whom  I am 
responsible  have  been  granted  their  daily  bread  for 
one  day  more. 

Why  are  not  these  supplies  given  out  once  for  all 
each  day?  I tried  that.  I impressed  upon  both 
women,  again  and  again,  that  they  would  not  receive 
another  thing  in  the  whole  day  and  that  they  must 
divide  everything  into  two  parts,  using  only  one- 
half  for  the  morning  meal. 

In  the  afternoon  when  I went  to  the  kitchen  court 
to  inspect  the  washing  lying  around  on  the  ground 
“ to  soak,”  I found  a heaping  pan  of  cooked  potatoes 
thrown  out  to  the  doves.  With  potatoes  at  two  and 
one-half  dollars  per  bushel ! Six  times  did  Pabla 
come  upstairs  to  ask  me  for  supplies  for  the  dinner ; 
she  followed  me  around  when  I had  callers  and 
begged  for  food  which  I persisted  in  denying  her. 
Fat  old  Rosario  labored  up  the  stairs  and  Valentine 
was  sent  to  me  twice.  Finally  all  three  of  them 
interviewed  the  Missionary  in  his  office ; he  told  them 
that  the  housekeeping  was  my  affair  and  he  would 
not  mix  in  it,  but  if  I had  warned  them  that  the 
supplies  were  for  the  entire  day  they  should  have 
set  aside  enough  for  the  dinner.  Later  he  remarked 
to  me  that  perhaps  I had  better  give  out  rations  for 
the  dinner  again.  I might  have  done  so  had  I not 
seen  that  peck  of  potatoes  thrown  away ; as  it 
was,  I did  not  do  it. 

We  had  almost  nothing  for  dinner,  no  vegetables, 
no  rice.  I sent  to  the  corner  tienda  as  we  sat  at 


34> 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


table  and  bought  stale  soiled  breads  with  which  to 
appease  our  hunger.  It  is  not  customary  to  serve 
bread  at  dinner.  The  boys  ate  their  meagre  meal 
quietly,  while  my  cheeks  burned  as  I wondered  what 
they  thought  of  my  management.  The  Missionary 
was  grave,  the  servants,  all  on  the  point  of  leaving 
and  I,  worried.  The  next  day  I went  back  to  count- 
ing beans  and  potatoes  and  was  glad  to  do  it. 

Saturdays  Pabla  tears  up  our  rooms  and  gen- 
erally plays  havoc  with  our  things,  tackling  every- 
thing with  the  force  and  vim  of  a whirlwind.  She 
commences  by  throwing  the  rugs  and  cushions  over 
the  balustrade  into  the  court  below  where  the  boys 
stumble  and  crawl  over  them  on  the  way  to  the 
dining-room  for  morning  coffee.  Instead  of  then 
sweeping  the  rooms  thus  bereft  of  their  small  rugs, 
she  seizes  fiercely  upon  a pail  of  water  and  slops  it 
along  the  floor  around  the  edge  of  the  large  center 
rug.  Down  she  gets  upon  her  knees  to  chase  after 
the  stream  in  an  effort  to  sop  it  up  before  it  shall 
run  into  the  rug,  which,  of  course,  she  does  not  suc- 
ceed in  doing.  For  half  the  forenoon,  without  having 
swept  anywdiere,  she  paddles  around  in  that  water, 
which  performance  she  calls  scrubbing.  Result:  a 
streak  of  mud  around  each  large  rug. 

Then  she  rushes  up  with  her  broom  and  com- 
mences an  onslaught  upon  the  large  rugs,  scraping 
away  at  them  until  it  is  a wonder  they  are  not  in 
rags.  The  brooms  are  rough  sticks,  two  and  a half 
feet  long,  around  one  end  of  which  stiff  reeds  are 
tied  in  a bundle  no  larger  than  a man’s  fist.  Such 
a broom  is  about  as  easy  to  sweep  with  as  a corn- 
stalk would  be  and  not  much  more  effective. 

After  Pabla  has  pounded  and  slapped  the  rugs 
an  hour  each  and  the  dust  is  so  thick  that  one  can 


PABLA 


35 


scarcely  see  across  the  room,  she  joyfully  pro- 
nounces her  work  finished  and  goes  away.  The 
floors,  since  nothing  ever  dries  in  Bogota,  are  still 
too  wet  to  spread  down  the  small  rugs,  which  the 
woman  ran  out  in  a flood  of  rain  to  rescue  after 
they  were  well  dampened  and  which  she  afterward 
shook  in  the  closed  corridor  in  front  of  the  sup- 
posedly clean  rooms.  Later  she  returns  to  place 
these  rugs  as  straight  as  geometrical  lines,  while  she 
leaves  the  large  rugs  billowing  like  the  waves  of  the 
ocean,  and  at  all  sorts  of  angles  with  their  sur- 
roundings. Nothing  is  dusted  and  the  cushions  are 
tucked  into  unexpected  corners  so  that  I must  hunt 
for  them  to  find  them. 

Pabla  is  the  personification  of  willingness.  When 
the  Missionary  is  sick  she  cheerfully  trots  up  and 
down  stairs  forty  times  a day  and  seems  honored  in 
the  doing  of  it.  Yet  without  extra  service  she  has 
work  enough  for  any  woman.  When  the  Missionary 
cannot  come  downstairs  and  I am  battling  in  the 
office  with  his  problems,  she  goes  about  the  house 
shaking  her  black  head  and  mumbling,  “ Sacred 
God,  but  he  makes  much  lack  in  the  house.”  When 
I remark  that  perhaps  he  will  soon  be  better  and 
able  to  return  to  the  office,  she  tries  to  look 
lugubrious  and  exclaims,  “ Blessed  Mary,  but  it 
would  be  his  harm.”  If  I attempt  to  have  him  sit 
up  a little  she  declares,  to  the  accompaniment  of  her 
choicest  swear-words,  “ But  it  is  a crime  to  think  in 
such  a thing.” 

One  afternoon  when  Valentine  went  with  his  little 
basket  to  buy  sweets  for  the  boys  I followed  him  to 
learn  where  and  how  he  did  it.  As  we  left  the  house 
we  noticed  Pabla  standing  in  the  lower  corridor 
grinning  at  us.  We  bought  the  sweets  the  third 


36 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


door  from  the  Colegio  so  were  gone  but  a few  mo- 
ments and  as  we  returned  I caught  a glimpse  of 
Pabla’s  squat  figure  scudding  around  the  corner. 
I went  on  upstairs  and  stood  in  the  upper  corridor 
which  commanded  a view  of  the  door.  A moment 
later  Pabla  entered  breathlessly,  on  a trot,  with  an 
upward  glance  towards  my  rooms.  When  she  saw 
me  watching  her,  she  dropped  her  head  sheep- 
ishly and  ran  through  the  long  corridor  to  the 
kitchen. 

An  hour  later  she  came  for  the  dinner  supplies 
and  when  I looked  at  her  searchingly  she  grew  red 
and  mumbled  something  about  Rosario’s  needing 
extra  milk  and  sending  her  after  it. 

“ But,  Pabla,  you  know  that  you  are  forbidden 
to  go  to  the  street,  and  when  Rosario  wishes  milk 
she  asks  me  for  it.” 

Poor  Pabla,  with  a breath  like  a whiff  from  a 
grog-ship  ! These  women  have  had  their  chicha  since 
they  were  in  their  cradles ; of  what  use  to  attempt 
to  deny  them  drink  now? 

I bought  a tiny  potted  rose-bush,  said  to  be  of  a 
rare  variety,  and  for  four  months  I carefully  tended 
and  watched  it,  carrying  it  to  the  sun,  moving  it  out 
of  the  rain,  setting  it  away  from  the  wind,  watering 
it  myself  for  fear  that  Valentine  would  keep  it  too 
wet  or  too  dry.  At  last  a wonderful  yellow  rose,  as 
large  as  an  orange,  burst  into  bloom,  sitting  proudly 
on  the  very  center  of  the  symmetrical  little  plant. 
It  was  perfect  in  its  beauty,  the  marvel  of  all.  The 
second  day  of  its  glory  Pabla  appeared  before  me 
grinning  broadly  and  holding  out  my  one  lovely  rose 
- — plucked ! 

“ A little  present  for  my  Senora,”  she  said  with 
the  air  of  giving  great  pleasure.  How  is  it  possible 


PABLA  37 

that  even  she,  as  dull  as  she  is,  could  not  see  that 
I did  not  wish  my  one  precious  rose  picked? 

There  were  in  our  school  “ Big  Murillo  ” and 
“ Little  Murillo.”  The  former  was  a stalwart,  un- 
couth fellow  of  eighteen  years,  who  had  come  to  us 
from  a distant  village;  the  latter,  a well-formed, 
handsome  youth  of  twenty,  was  very  like  his  father, 
a polished  gentleman  who  had  never  married,  and  so 
was  desirous  of  doing  something  for  his  talented  son. 
Naturally  Big  Murillo,  with  his  loud  guffaw  and 
coarse  manners,  acted  upon  Little  Murillo  as  an  ir- 
ritant, since  every  instinct  of  the  latter  was  that  of 
a gentleman.  On  his  part,  Big  Murillo  hated  the 
other  because  of  the  scorn  with  which  the  smaller  man 
regarded  him,  and  this  dislike  manifested  itself  by  in- 
sinuating remarks,  by  asking  Little  Murillo  when  he 
had  last  seen  his  mother  and  if  he  were  going  to  spend 
his  vacation  with  her.  Since  everyone  knew  that 
Little  Murillo  did  not  know  who  his  mother  was,  such 
remarks  were  the  veriest  insults. 

One  evening  the  two  young  men  returned  from  the 
mid-week  service  and,  with  the  rest  of  the  boarding 
boys,  entered  the  dining-room,  seating  themselves  at 
the  table  for  the  evening  lunch.  As  the  Missionary 
had  company  we  had  asked  that  our  lunch  be  sent  up- 
stairs. Suddenly  we  heard  the  crash  of  falling 
dishes,  the  rattle  of  chairs,  voices  pitched  high  in  ex- 
citement. The  light  in  the  dining-room  flashed  out, 
and  a scuffling  and  screaming  ensued.  The  Mission- 
ary started  from  his  chair  exclaiming,  “ Those  Muril- 
los again,”  and  bounded  down  the  stairs  followed  by 
the  two  visiting  gentlemen. 

Big  Murillo  in  passing  the  other’s  chair  at  table 
had  rudely  brushed  against  him  and  Little  Murillo 
had  responded  with  some  insulting  remark.  The 


38 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


larger  man  thereupon  struck  the  smaller,  who  in- 
stantly drew  his  pocket  knife  and  attacked  his  enemy. 
Big  Murillo  seized  a chair  and  attempted  to  break  his 
opponent’s  head.  Pabla  extinguished  the  light  and 
the  young  men  wrestled  and  fought  in  the  darkness 
until  they  reached  the  corridor  where  the  brilliant 
moonlight  enabled  them  to  see  each  other.  Then 
Pabla  rushed  in  between  them,  but  was  knocked  down 
and  trampled  on.  She  received  a severe  cut  on  one 
hand  from  the  jabbing  knife  with  which  the  smaller 
man  fought.  The  Missionary  threw  himself  between 
the  combatants  and  held  them  apart  while  he  tried 
to  calm  them  enough  to  induce  them  to  desist.  Sud- 
denly Big  Murillo,  standing  behind  the  Missionary, 
stealthily  attempted  to  pounce  upon  his  enemy,  but 
one  of  the  visitors,  noting  the  movement,  threw  him- 
self upon  the  big  fellow  and  bore  him  to  the  floor. 

I descended  to  the  dining-room  to  find  Pabla,  her 
smile  gone  for  once,  making  an  effort  to  straighten 
things.  As  she  gathered  up  pieces  of  china,  her 
hand  dripping  blood,  she  cried  over  the  broken  dishes 
and  demolished  chairs. 

One  evening,  as  Pabla  was  passing  an  empty 
schoolroom,  she  was  startled  by  a slight  noise. 
Entering  the  unlighted  room,  she  distinguished  the 
form  of  a man  climbing  into  a window  which  someone 
had  forgotten  to  fasten.  Doubtless  his  purpose  was 
to  secret  himself  somewhere  and  be  locked  in  when 
the  house  was  closed  for  the  night.  Brave  Pabla  ad- 
vanced upon  the  man  and  ordered  him  to  retreat, 
which  he  did  at  once.  The  Missionary  heard  her 
voice  in  the  dark  schoolroom  and,  coming  to  investi- 
gate, arrived  in  time  to  see  the  robber  disappearing 
into  the  moonlit  street.  When  Pabla  was  asked  if 
she  were  not  frightened,  she  replied: 


PABLA 


39 


“ Of  course,  Senor,  but  what  does  that  mean  to  say? 
Surely  it  is  my  duty  to  protect  the  Doctor’s  house ! ” 
Pabla’s  unselfish  devotion  included  not  only  the 
Missionary  and  myself,  but  also  the  boarding  boys. 
They  imposed  upon  her,  constantly  demanding 
extra  service  and  unscrupulously  ordering  her  about. 
More  work  fell  to  her  lot  than  one  woman  could 
expect  to  do  and  keep  well ; she  fell  ill,  we  sent  her 
to  her  sister,  and  Cleofa  came  in  her  place. 


IV 


CLEOFA 

AT  first  glance  Cleofa  appeared  likable.  She 
had  a round  vacant  face,  much  lighter  in 
^ color  than  Pabla’s;  in  fact  she  was  quite  a 
red  and  olive  blond,  as  blonds  go  in  Latin  America. 
The  Missionary  pronounced  her  better  looking  than 
her  predecessor,  a compliment  which  did  not  mean 
much  as  he  had  declared  Pabla  to  be  the  homeliest 
woman  he  had  ever  seen. 

The  new  girl’s  display  of  temper  was  like  a 
tropical  storm;  nothing  was  ever  more  certain  to 
occur,  or  was  more  violent  while  it  lasted,  and  it 
burst  upon  us  from  a clear  sky  with  no  rumblings 
of  thunder.  She  was  forever  in  trouble  with  some 
of  the  boys  and  often  even  with  Rosario,  who  was 
more  tranquil  than  an  Indian  summer. 

The  laundry  became  a night-mare  to  me  while 
Cleofa  was  with  us.  At  least  half  the  clothes  each 
week  had  to  be  sent  back  to  be  re-ironed  and  nothing 
was  ever  well  done  at  last. 

To  iron  without  smudging  the  clean  articles  is  an 
art.  The  utensil  used  is  a tailor’s  goose,  a heavy 
hollow  iron  holding  burning  charcoal  in  its  center. 
It  is  not  a simple  matter  to  keep  the  charcoal  ablaze 
and  it  requires  periods  of  blowing  with  a bellows, 
which  causes  cinders  and  sparks  to  fly  in  all  direc- 
tions. Not  infrequently  the  clothes  are  burned  in 

40 


Milk-vendors. 


Rural  homes. 


Four  hundred  years  of  Spanish  civilization  and  yet 


CLEOFA 


41 


spots  by  the  sparks  and  rarely  do  they  escape  being 
blackened  in  places  by  the  cinders. 

For  six  days  of  the  week  water  runs  in  a slow 
drizzle  from  a faucet  in  the  kitchen  court  of  the 
Colegio.  On  Tuesdays  there  is  no  water;  as  every- 
one gives  a different  explanation  for  this  and  as  no 
two  reasons  agree,  I have  never  really  known  why  we 
have  no  water  on  that  day.  Monday  the  dining- 
room girl,  between  the  intervals  of  running  up  and 
downstairs,  serving  two  meals,  preparing  and  serv- 
ing three  lunches,  and  keeping  the  dining-room  as 
well  as  our  living-rooms  clean,  dampens  all  the 
clothes,  wads  them  up  with  soap,  and  strews  them 
around  the  kitchen  court.  Tuesday,  if  she  finds  time 
and  I remind  her  of  it,  she  carries  water  from  the 
front  court  and  pours  it  over  them.  Wednesday  she 
commences  to  pound  each  article  against  a flat  in- 
clined stone  as  large  as  a table,  constantly  pouring 
water  over  the  garment  as  she  moves  it  up  and  down. 
Swish,  slap,  swash,  whack,  slap,  the  noise  reverber- 
ates through  the  Colegio  and  escapes  into  the  street. 
As  one  walks  through  Bogota,  he  can  hear  it  issuing 
from  all  the  houses  in  the  city.  The  parexcellence 
of  a washwoman  consists  in  the  force  of  the  abrupt 
sharp  thwacks  she  can  produce  on  the  stone  with 
somebody’s  fine  linen  and  laces.  Handfuls  of  broken 
buttons  are  gathered  up  after  each  washing. 

When  an  article  comes  through  this  ordeal  clean, 
it  is  spread  on  the  bushes  in  the  solar  to  dry.  If 
still  not  clean,  it  is  returned  to  soak,  usually  on  a 
board  that  it  may  be  moved  easily  from  place  to 
place  and  left  wherever  the  sun’s  rays  penetrate  into 
the  court.  The  board  has  rusty  nails,  the  clothes 
are  covered  with  rust  spots,  but  it  occurs  to  no  one 
to  remove  the  nails.  Practically  every  bush  in 


4>2 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Colombia  contains  dye-stuff  in  its  leaves  or  blossoms; 
clothes  hung  on  bushes  are  dyed  in  streaks,  yet  the 
women  object  to  using  a clothes-line,  because  the 
sun  cannot  reach  all  parts  of  a garment  hung  on  a 
line. 

When  all  the  clothes  are  washed  and  dried  they 
are  collected  to  be  blued  and  starched.  The  starch 
is  made  at  night  and  left  to  stand  until  morning 
when  it  has  become  as  thick  and  almost  as  unman- 
ageable as  glue.  From  one  to  three  hours  are  spent 
in  beating  it  up  with  the  hands  and  the  fore-arms ; 
slap,  slap,  slap,  slap,  until  I wonder  at  the  endurance 
of  the  women.  The  right  consistency  at  last,  the 
mass  is  blued  a deep  indigo.  Starched  dry  in  that 
thick  paste,  everything — table-linen,  bed-linen,  hand- 
kerchiefs— comes  out  as  stiff  as  a board  and  as  blue 
as  I feel  when  I see  it.  Fortunate  indeed  is  the 
Senora  who  receives  her  clothes,  ironed  and  creased 
in  wonderful  folds,  two  weeks  after  she  has  sent  them 
downstairs. 

For  three  successive  weeks  Cleofa  spoiled  the  white 
clothes  by  leaving  them  in  soak  for  a day  or  two 
with  her  red  dress  on  top  of  them.  The  first  time 
it  happened  I upbraided  her,  and  she  responded  with 
a long  tirade  containing  a startling  flow  of  swear- 
words. The  second  time  it  occurred  I spent  a half 
day  balancing  a pail  on  charcoal,  trying  to  boil  out 
the  color  which  persisted  in  thwarting  my  purpose. 
I told  her  if  it  happened  again  that  I should  expect 
her  to  pay  for  the  ruined  things  (fancy  it,  from  two 
dollars  per  month!).  Even  that  threat  did  not  pre- 
vent a re-occurrence  of  the  disaster.  She  was  a 
little  frightened  when  for  the  third  time  I found  that 
calico  dress  on  top  of  everything  else,  and  she  went 
to  the  street  to  purchase  an  acid  with  which  for 


CLEOFA 


48 


nearly  a week  she  worked  over  the  mottled  clothes 
but  without  success.  About  everything  in  the  house 
was  eventually  stained  from  that  one  red  dress. 

The  girl  was  both  foolish  and  obstinate.  She 
insisted  that  she  did  “ all  thing  the  very  best,”  and 
would  receive  instruction  in  nothing.  For  example 
she  sprinkled  a week’s  laundry,  then  found  not  a 
moment  in  which  to  iron  it.  I discovered  the  things 
on  one  of  my  frequent  tours  of  inspection  (the  habit 
of  close  inspection,  my  women  declared,  no  Colombian 
senora  ever  had  and  they  considered  such  a custom 
very  improper  in  me)  and  told  her  to  take  the  things 
out  and  hang  them  on  the  line  again.  I supposed  of 
course  she  had  done  it,  but  she  had  not.  Several 
days  later  I came  upon  them  completely  mildewed ; 
nothing  escaped,  not  even  the  six  new  long  table- 
cloths which  I had  just  made  for  the  Colegio  and 
which  had  never  before  been  washed. 

When  Cleofa  had  been  with  us  three  months,  Small 
Son  made  his  appearance,  and  the  woman  assumed 
the  extra  work  and  the  longer  hours  without  com- 
ment. Up  and  down  stairs,  through  the  long  cor- 
ridors, back  and  forth  she  went,  forever  on  a trot. 
It  troubled  me  that  no  one  could  be  found  to  help 
her  but  she  made  no  complaint.  She  did  not  know 
how  to  work  and  she  would  let  no  one  show  her  but 
she  was  as  far  from  being  indolent  as  any  girl  I ever 
had,  and  all  Colombian  servant-women  are  hard- 
working. 

When  Small  Son  was  a week  old,  Bertilda,  a 
young  girl  who  was  acting  as  housekeeper  for  me, 
came  to  tell  me  that  she  could  not  stay  in  the  house 
if  Cleofa  continued  so  insolent  and  rebellious.  Ber- 
tilda cried,  Cleofa  stormed  and  swore,  the  nurse, 
Bautista,  screamed  excitedly  and  pandemonium 


44 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


reigned.  The  Missionary  in  his  office  heard  the 
clamor  and  came  running  through  the  corridor  and 
up  the  stairs.  Into  my  room  he  flew  and  asked, 
“ What  is  it?  ” Waiting  for  no  answer  he  came  to 
the  bed  and,  putting  his  head  down  almost  with  a 
sob,  asked  if  I was  all  right.  The  women  sneaked 
away. 

Not  until  afterward  did  I know  that  the  physician 
did  not  expect  me  to  get  well,  and  the  Missionary 
had  thought  me  dead  when  he  heard  just  such  a com- 
motion as  is  raised  'when  a death  occurs. 

After  things  had  quieted  down  somewhat,  I sent 
for  Cleofa  and  told  her  that  if  she  would  manage 
with  Bertilda  and  Bautista  I would  give  her  double 
wages  and  a new  dress  when  I got  up.  Three  more 
weeks  went  by  and  I was  still  unable  to  sit  up  when 
the  woman  came  to  tell  me  she  was  leaving. 

“ Oh,  Cleofa,  I know  that  the  work  is  too  hard  for 
one  woman,  with  so  much  running  up  and  down- 
stairs and  so  much  laundry  with  no  chance  to  dry 
anything  in  this  steady  downpour ; but  we  are  send- 
ing for  Dominga  and  things  will  be  easier.  Don’t 
go  now  when  we  need  you  so  much.” 

“ It  is  not  that  work,  my  Senora.  All  that  I do  for 
Senora  Mauda,  that  is  but  a pleasure.  It  certainly 
is  that  my  brother  is  sick  and  it  is  I myself  that  he 
has  sent  for.  In  this  next  week  I go.” 

When  Rosario  heard  of  it  she  told  Cleofa  that  she 
had  no  right  to  leave  without  giving  longer  notice, 
and  that  we  could  call  in  a policeman  to  keep  her. 
Cleofa  came  directly  to  me  and  asked  if  that  were 
true;  I told  her  I did  not  know,  it  might  be.  Then 
she  came  nearer  breaking  down  than  I had  before 
seen  her,  for  she  usually  tossed  her  head  and  giggled 
on  all  occasions.  She  asked  permission  to  go  out 


CLEOFA 


45 


for  a few  moments  so  I instructed  Valentine  to 
unlock  the  door  for  her.  She  went  away,  but  she 
did  not  return;  and  I was  owing  her  a month’s 
wages, — the  pay  for  that  month  of  hard,  hard  work. 
The  injustice  of  it  troubled  me  as,  in  spite  of  the 
incredulity  of  the  rest  of  the  household,  I believed 
her  story  that  she  was  going  to  her  brother  in 
another  city. 

Two  days  later  she  presented  herself  in  my  room, 
gay  and  flippant.  She  admitted  that  she  had  no 
brother,  that  she  had  found  a place  where  the  work 
was  easier,  and  she  had  returned  for  her  double  wages 
and  the  new  dress. 

Teresa  took  her  place,  and  for  the  time  being,  the 
char-woman,  Dominga,  was  made  responsible  for 
the  laundry.  A pleasant-faced,  sloppy-figured  little 
woman  was  Teresa,  whose  eyes,  nose  and  hair  pro- 
claimed her  what  she  was, — part  negro.  She  is  the 
only  servant  with  negro  blood  that  I have  ever  had 
in  Colombia.  A born  nurse  girl,  she  was  a great 
comfort  to  me  since  I could  not  leave  my  room  until 
Small  Son  was  more  than  two  months  old.  Her  dark 
face  fairly  shone  with  delight  when  at  last  we  were 
able  to  take  the  child  for  his  first  outing,  she  carry- 
ing him  and  I trailing  after  to  watch  her  every  step. 
She  remarked,  tentatively: 

“ The  foreign  senoras  of  Bogota  have  that  custom 
of  putting  shoes  on  the  girl  who  carries  the  baby. 
Senora  Mauda  thinks  in  that  thing?  ” 

“ No,  Teresa,”  I replied.  “ I am  afraid  that  if 
you  wore  shoes  you  might  stumble;  they  would  hurt 
your  feet  and  be  so  stiff*  that  you  could  not  walk. 
Small  Son  is  safer  if  you  go  as  you  are  accustomed 
to  go.” 


V 


BAUTISTA 

THE  nurse  that  we  employed  when  Small  Son 
came  was  considered  the  best  that  we  could 
secure  in  a city  where  no  nurse  is  trained,  as 
we  understand  the  term.  She  was  highly  recom- 
mended to  us  by  our  physician,  a Harvard  graduate. 
She  had  spent  nine  months  in  the  city  of  Paris  in  a 
hospital  of  her  church,  and  had  seen  many  things 
undreamed  of  by  the  nurse-women  who  had  never 
been  out  of  Bogota.  She  was  a respectable-looking 
woman,  dressed  in  a black  skirt,  with  a mantilla 
draped  about  her  ample  form  in  such  a way  that 
nothing  of  her  basque  showed.  Upon  her  feet  she 
wore  shoes,  a sure  sign  that  she  did  not  belong  to 
the  servant  class.  The  woman  had  a kindly,  although 
heavy,  face  and  appeared  quiet  and  trustworthy. 

She  was  with  us  six  weeks,  receiving  a dollar  a 
day,  wonderful  wages,  and  to  the  best  of  her  ability 
she  was  faithful  during  that  time.  The  physician 
had  said  that  she  would  do  exactly  as  she  was  told, 
a virtue  which  he  had  not  discovered  in  any  other 
nurse  in  the  city.  The  third  day  that  she  was  with 
us  he  instructed  her  to  give  a little  medicine  to  the 
baby.  That  afternoon  she  was  gone  on  her  walk 
longer  than  usual ; shortly  after  her  return  I asked 
her  if  she  had  given  the  medicine. 

“ No,  Senora.  I gave  the  child  another  remedy 
which  I think  is  better.” 


46 


BAUTISTA 


47 


“ What  will  the  medico  say  to  that?  ” 

“ Oh,  I met  him  on  the  street  when  I was  out  and 
he  said  that  he  had  changed  his  mind  and  wished  me 
to  give  this  other  thing.  So  I bought  it  at  once  and 
it  is  administered.” 

It  seemed  strange  to  me  that  the  physician  should 
change  his  mind  after  having  given  a prescription, 
but  I lay  puzzling  over  it  without  saying  anything 
more  to  her  about  it.  The  next  morning  when  the 
doctor  came  he  asked  me,  “ Did  Bautista  give  the 
medicine  to  the  child?  ” 

I told  him  no,  repeating  the  explanation  that  she 
had  given  me.  Never  have  I seen  a man  angrier. 
He  sent  for  the  nurse  who  was  keeping  discreetly  out 
of  sight  and  roundly  scolded  her.  She  excused  her- 
self by  saying  that  Doctor  So-and-so  always  gave 
the  other  medicine  and  she  had  helped  him  in  eleven 
cases  so  she  had  come  to  believe  it  the  better. 
Naturally  quoting  a rival  doctor  did  not  serve  to 
calm  down  our  physician ; he  told  her  that  this  was 
his  case,  not  hers,  adding  that  our  lives  were  not 
safe  in  the  hands  of  a woman  who  changed  the  medi- 
cines at  her  own  discretion.  Thereupon  he  dismissed 
her.  But  I could  not  let  her  go  at  such  a crisis,  so 
the  Missionary  was  sent  for  to  pour  oil  upon  the 
troubled  waters.  The  doctor  stormed  off  to  his  next 
call,  Bautista  sobbed  and  sniffled  all  day  and  through 
the  next  night,  the  Missionary  watched  the  woman 
distrustfully,  and  the  atmosphere  of  our  home  was 
anything  but  cheerful. 

The  next  morning  the  doctor  laughed  it  off  and 
said  that  perhaps  she  had  learned  a lesson,  yet  never 
again  could  he  recommend  her  to  any  senora.  He 
added : 

“ She  thinks  because  she  was  in  Paris  a few  months 


48 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


that  she  knows  more  than  anyone  else ; she  knows 
too  much,  that  is  all  that  ails  her.” 

To  know  something  is  not  so  bad  a thing  after 
all.  Bautista  made  herself  useful  to  the  whole 
family ; she  boiled  herbs  and  made  remedies  for  Ber- 
tilda’s  cold,  for  the  Missionary’s  indigestion,  for 
Pinzon’s  fever,  for  Valentine’s  boil,  for  Rosario’s 
headache,  and  washes  for  everybody  for  whatever 
complaint.  Would  a trained  nurse  have  done  as 
well?  She  delighted  the  hearts  of  the  younger  boys 
by  making  them  some  wonderful  rolls  that  looked 
like  doughnuts  and  smelled  like  sour  bread.  Over 
these  she  worked  one  entire  forenoon  after  spending 
two  dollars  of  the  boarding-department  money  for 
the  materials.  That  afternoon  she  went  home  and 
we  discovered  that  she  had  secreted  over  half  of  the 
fried  rings  under  her  shawl  and  had  carried  them 
home  with  her ; doubtless  her  wage  for  making  them. 

She  had  a most  wonderful  way  of  swathing  the 
new  baby  in  wrappings.  He  was  done  up  so  stiffly 
that  the  bundle  containing  him  could  almost  have 
stood  alone,  and  nothing  showed  but  his  tiny  face, 
since  his  hands  were  bound  tightly  to  his  sides. 
When  the  Missionary  asked  her  if  that  was  an 
Indian  custom,  she  was  greatly  insulted. 

“ Oh,  no,  Senor  Doctor,  no  Indian  does  her  baby 
up ; they  go  quite  naked.  It  was  in  Paris  that  I 
learned  that  most  perfect  method  of  keeping  a child 
from  getting  uncovered  in  the  night.” 

“ Oh,  ho,  then  this  is  a little  Parisian ! Well,  he 
looks  exactly  like  the  pictures  of  Siwash  Indian 
papooses.”  And  Siwash  he  was  from  that  day  when- 
ever his  father  spoke  of  him. 

Bautista  had  learned  another  custom  in  Paris ; 
she  could  not  get  through  the  days,  much  less  the 


BAUTISTA 


49 


nights,  without  frequent  drinks  of  wine.  She  scorned 
chicha — nothing  but  imported  wine  did  for  her  and 
she  insisted  upon  having  it  served  with  all  her  meals. 
She  bought  it  herself,  as  we  refused  to  serve  it.  Since 
we  could  not  prevent  her  drinking,  and  it  seemed 
inadvisable  to  dismiss  her,  we  let  it  pass. 

She  had  a most  astonishing  appetite.  She  had 
food  brought  to  her  every  two  hours  during  the 
day  and  a great  pile  stacked  up  for  the  night. 
Neither  the  Missionary  nor  I had  ever  seen  anything 
like  it.  He  said  that  it  reminded  him  of  a mill, 
Cleofa  running  up  with  food,  with  coffee,  with 
chocolate,  with  wine,  and  everything  disappearing 
forthwith.  However,  Bautista  did  her  work  faith- 
fully and  her  patient  lived,  so  we  were  ready  to  for- 
give her  any  disgust  that  she  may  have  caused  us. 

Friends  vied  with  each  other  in  sending  gifts  to 
the  new  baby.  We  collected  as  varied  an  assort- 
ment as  ever  was  seen.  Some  of  the  boys  of  the 
Colegio  went  to  the  market-place  on  Saturday  after- 
noon and  came  back  tugging  a month-old  goat  which 
they  presented  to  Small  Son  as  their  gift.  The  for- 
lorn little  creature  was  lonely  in  the  great  play- 
ground and  day  and  night  kept  up  a pitiful  bleating 
that  sounded  like  the  wail  of  a human  baby.  During 
the  day  the  boys  tried  to  comfort  and  content  him 
by  carrying  him  around  in  their  arms.  Rosario’s 
sympathy  manifested  itself  in  a practical  way;  she 
took  the  goat  to  bed  with  her  at  night.  She,  who 
weighed  nearly  two  hundred  pounds,  occupied  a 
single  width  bed,  together  with  her  seven-year-old 
daughter  and  an  enormous  cat,  which  she  declared 
kept  her  feet  warm  at  night  by  lying  on . top  of 
them;  yet  such  was  the  woman’s  good-heartedness 
that  she  was  ready  and  willing  to  add  on  the  goat ! 


50 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


I asked  the  Missionary  to  make  sure  that  the 
boards  of  her  bed  were  strong  and  new  as  I did  not 
wish  to  be  startled  some  night  by  any  sudden  crash 
from  the  servants’  room,  and  the  goat  might  prove 
the  straw  that  broke  the  camel’s  back. 


r 


VI 


LA  SENORITA  BERTILDA  LOPEZ 

IT  was  with  great  relief  that,  a few  weeks  before 
Small  Son’s  birth,  I had  handed  over  the  keys  of 
the  house  to  Bertilda  Lopez.  Hers  was  a slim 
girlish  figure,  surmounted  by  a large  head  with  an 
old  face.  I wondered  if  it  were  her  seriousness  and 
conscientiousness  that  put  such  an  expression  on  the 
face  of  an  eighteen-year-old  girl. 

General  Lopez,  Bertilda’s  father,  had  figured  hon- 
orably in  the  last  civil  war  of  his  country,  but  he 
had  expended  himself  and  his  substance  on  the  losing 
side ; hence  life  for  him  had  become  anything  but 
easy.  He  had  educated  his  two  daughters, — Ber- 
tilda had  graduated  from  one  of  the  best  girls’ 
schools  in  the  city, — but  the  family  lived  in  a poor, 
hand-to-mouth  way.  So  when,  as  a special  favor,  we 
begged  Bertilda  to  act  as  housekeeper  for  us,  her 
father  allowed  her  “ to  make  a little  visit  at  the 
Colegio,”  and  the  girl  received  her  monthly  stipend 
as  a “ gift  from  the  gracious  Senora  Mauda.” 

What  Bertilda  lacked  in  executive  ability  she 
atoned  for  by  her  painstaking  honesty.  Slow  to 
think  and  to  act,  she  was  most  delightfully  sure, 
and  she  had  mysterious  ways  of  her  own  for 
extracting  from  Rosario’s  packets  the  change  from 
the  marketing,  a thing  I had  never  yet  accomplished. 
One  sensitive  point  did  she  possess;  she  considered 
that  the  pupils  and  the  boarding  boy&  did  not  show 
her  the  respect  she  deserved.  Both  the  Missionary 

51 


52 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


and  I continually  admonished  the  offenders  to  be 
careful  of  their  manner  toward  our  friend  during 
her  visit  in  our  house,  and  we  ourselves  set  the  exam- 
ple by  showing  General  Lopez’s  daughter  the  utmost 
deference. 

On  Saturdays,  the  big  market  days,  Bertilda 
dressed  herself  neatly  in  a black  skirt,  gracefully 
draped  a silk  mantilla  about  her  slender  figure,  and 
daintily  tripped  away  on  her  high  heels  to  carry  the 
money  and  to  assist  the  cook  in  her  purchases.  Dur- 
ing the  many  hours  of  the  week  that  I was  in  the 
class-room  with  the  boys,  she  watched  Teresa  and 
Small  Son  so  that  my  mind  was  at  rest  concerning 
them. 

The  Missionary  had  been  very  ill  and  was  but 
traveling  the  road  to  recovery.  About  two  o’clock 
one  night,  both  of  us  being  awake,  we  caught  a 
faint  sound  as  of  distant  thunder.  Since  the  storms 
of  Bogota  are  usually  free  from  thunder,  sneaking 
upon  us  unawares,  we  decided  that  the  low  heavy 
reverberation  must  mean  another  earthquake.  How- 
ever, the  chairs  and  tables  did  not  commence  to  slide 
around  as  is  usual  when  a quaking  of  the  ground 
occurs,  yet  the  murmur  increased  to  a steady  rumble 
which  grew  in  volume.  Soon  we  distinguished  the 
mumble  and  roar  of  many  voices,  the  thud  and  tramp 
of  hundreds  of  feet.  Not  understanding  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  sounds  we  felt  no  fear,  only  curiosity. 
Louder  and  louder  grew  the  tumult  until  we  caught 
the  words  shrilled  above  all  else,  “ Down  with  the 
Yankees  ! Kill  the  Yankees  ! ” 

“ We  are  being  mobbed ! ” cried  out  the  Mission- 
ary, as  he  jumped  from  bed,  stopping  only  to  catch 
up  his  bathrobe. 

Almost  immediately  came  the  thud  of  stones 


LA  SENORITA  BERTILDA  LOPEZ  53 


against  the  brick  front  of  the  Colegio,  fob  owed  by 
the  crash  of  glass.  The  school  awoke  with  a many- 
throated  scream.  Servants  and  boys  rushed  into  the 
corridors,  wailing  and  shrieking.  The  Colegio  in- 
stantly became  a lunatic  asylum. 

The  Missionary  leaped  down  the  stairs  and  run- 
ning to  a school-room  applied  his  feeble  strength 
to  moving  one  of  the  long  heavy  study  benches,  call- 
ing upon  the  older  boys  and  the  servants  to  help 
him.  No  one,  except  Bertilda  and  one  small  fourteen- 
year-old  boy,  responded.  Everyone  else  in  those 
huddled  groups  was  so  busy  bewailing  his  fate  and 
calling  upon  his  favorite  saint  that  he  gave  no  atten- 
tion to  orders,  until  in  desperation  the  Missionary 
knocked  a few  of  their  heads  together  to  bring  them 
to  their  senses.  Even  then  they  were  afraid  of  the 
shivering  glass  and  flying  stones  and  hung  back. 

Bertilda  and  Enrique  worked  steadily  and  rapidly 
at  the  Missionary’s  side,  dragging  benches  to  the 
windows  to  barricade  them,  dodging  the  shattering 
glass  and  falling  stones  as  best  they  could.  Although 
badly  cut  about  the  head  they  faltered  not  in  their 
task. 

When  an  improvised  battering-ram  was  brought 
to  play  upon  the  door,  even  the  Missionary’s  heart 
sank.  “Kill  the  Yankees!  Down  with  the  Yan- 
kees ! ” shrieked  hundreds  of  voices,  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  breaking  glass,  of  thudding  stones,  of 
crunching  bricks,  punctuated  by  the  boom  of  the 
battering-ram  against  the  oak  planks  of  the  heavily- 
spiked  door.  The  door  creaked  and  groaned  and 
strained  against  the  iron  bar  that  secured  it ; yet  it 
held.  The  benches,  piled  high,  resisted  entrance 
through  the  demolished  windows,  and  gradually  the 
mob  dispersed. 


54, 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


As  soon  as  quiet  was  restored  in  the  street  we  des- 
patched Valentine  after  a doctor  for  the  Missionary. 
The  next  morning  the  American  government  through 
its  Minister  saw  that  a guard  was  stationed  around 
our  building.  When  he  was  able  to  do  so,  the  Mis- 
sionary publicly  praised  Bertilda  and  Enrique  for 
their  bravery. 

The  mob  solved  two  of  our  problems ; Enrique,  who 
had  been  our  most  mischievous,  troublesome  boarder, 
became  one  of  our  steadiest  boys ; and  never  again 
did  we  need  to  struggle  with  the  household  that 
proper  respect  be  shown  the  heroic  daughter  of  a 
well-known  general.  Rather  was  it  that  our 
young  men  were  soon  in  a fair  way  to  spoil  the 
senorita. 

Whether  it  was  the  halo  of  glory  that  encircled 
Bertilda  because  of  her  self-possession  in  time  of 
peril,  or  her  precise,  domestic  ways  that  formed  her 
chief  attraction,  I know  not ; but  suddenly,  out  of  a 
clear  sky  in  which  we  had  discovered  no  love  clouds 
forming,  Senor  Gutierrez,  a young  man  who  had 
come  to  us  recently,  proposed  to  General  Lopez  for 
the  hand  of  his  daughter.  We  were  very  much  sur- 
prised as,  to  our  certain  knowledge,  there  had  been 
nothing  going  on  that  resembled  a courtship — no 
withdrawing  into  corners,  no  smiling  over  secret 
understandings,  no  surreptitious  glances,  no  blush- 
ing,— none  of  the  things  one  would  expect  under 
similar  circumstances  in  America.  But  all  these 
and  many  other  evidences  of  a love  affair  burst  into 
blaze  as  soon  as  the  engagement  was  announced ; 
apparently  the  fire  had  only  gathered  force  from  its 
repression. 

For  six  days  our  transformed  little  housekeeper 
walked  on  air.  Her  whole  appearance  was  different. 


LA  SEtfORITA  BERTILDA  LOPEZ  55 


She  seemed  vitalized,  electric ; her  large  plain  face 
beamed  with  happiness ; her  voice  thrilled  her 
listeners ; her  step  became  quick  and  decisive. 

Then  the  storm  burst.  The  Missionary  felt  it  his 
duty  to  find  out  more  about  the  young  man  who 
desired  to  unite  his  life  with  a girl  so  worthy  as  Ber- 
tilda.  Senor  Gutierrez  had  been  in  our  house  but  a 
month,  having  come  to  us  from  the  coast.  We  had 
not  been  attracted  by  him,  and  from  the  first  were 
suspicious  of  him.  Upon  investigation,  the  Mis- 
sionary found  his  suspicions  more  than  justified; 
the  man  was  so  base  that  we  immediately  denied  him 
the  house. 

We  were  forced  to  inform  poor  little  Bertilda, 
scintillating  happiness,  that  her  hope  was  vain ; she 
could  not  marry  Senor  Gutierrez.  The  attitude  that 
the  girl  took  amazed  us.  Naturally  she  did  not 
believe  our  statements  and  required  proof ; we  had 
expected  that  and  had  the  proofs  ready  for  her. 
Then,  instead  of  recognizing  the  impossibility  of 
union  with  such  a man,  the  girl  indignantly  declared 
that  she  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  not  marry 
him ; that  she  would  marry  him  were  he  twice  the 
villain  he  had  proved  himself.  She  said  that  we  had 
no  right  to  forbid  her  meeting  him  and  she  packed 
up  her  belongings  to  return  at  once  to  her  father’s 
house. 

One  interview  did  she  have  with  her  lover  before 
he  sneaked  away  to  the  coast.  She  informed  us 
afterwards  that  she  had  promised  him  life-long 
fidelity  and  had  assured  him  that  she  would  marry 
him  at  any  time  he  came  for  her.  Then  commenced” 
a correspondence,  a one-sided  affair,  for  after  the 
first  two  or  three  weeks  none  of  Bertilda’s  letters 
were  answered.  A few  months  later  rumor  whispered 


56  THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 

that  Senor  Gutierrez  had  married  a woman  at  the 
coast. 

Several  times  in  the  months  that  ensued  did  I call 
upon  the  Senorita  Bertilda.  Shut  into  an  ill- 
smelling, unkempt,  damp  house,  the  girl  did  nothing 
day  after  day  but  sit  with  folded  hands  and  think 
of  her  disappointment.  She  had  already  lost  all 
semblance  of  youth  when  last  I saw  her;  thin,  sallow, 
slouched,  at  eighteen  she  appeared  an  old  woman. 
All  my  efforts  to  arouse  her  were  vain ; she  was 
sunken  in  a half-stupor,  leaden,  responding  to  no 
appeal. 

You  who  are  ready  to  smile  at  her,  pause  a 
moment.  Not  one  girl  in  twenty  of  Bertilda’s  class 
and  circumstances  ever  receives  an  offer  of  marriage ; 
to  be  of  good  family  and  poor  is  almost  fatal  to 
marriage  prospects.  Practically  no  avenue  of  work 
is  open  to  such  an  one,  unless  she  be  able  to  teach, 
an  ability  that  Bertilda  did  not  possess.  No  pleas- 
ures or  diversions  fall  to  her  lot ; she  is  not  expected 
to  perform  any  of  the  common  menial  duties  of  her 
parents’  home, — those  are  for  the  doddering  old 
servant. 

Neither  be  in  a hurry  to  cast  the  first  stone  at  our 
Latin  American  sisters  if  they  do  not  demand  in 
a husband  all  that  a North  American  woman  does. 
Were  they  to  make  such  demands  there  would  be  far 
fewer  marriages  than  there  are  now;  yet  of  the 
things  that  contribute  to  the  existence  of  present 
conditions  in  the  most  of  South  America,  the  lack 
of  marriage  is  probably  the  most  deplorable.  No, 
there  is  no  condemnation  in  our  hearts  for  this  poor 
girl.  We  yearn  over  her  and  over  all  such  as  are 
cheated  of  every  woman’s  birthright,  a home  and 
children. 


VII 


ROSARIO’S  VACATION 

A MULE-DRIVER  asked  for  the  Doctor  Rev- 
erendo,  saying  that  he  had  come  from  a vil- 
lage two  days  distant  from  Bogota  and  he 
bore  a message  for  one,  Rosario,  said  to  be  in  the 
Colegio  Americano.  The  Missionary  took  the  soiled 
wrinkled  slip  of  paper  which  was  extended  to  him 
and  sent  for  Rosario.'  She  came,  received  the  paper 
and  looked  at  it  a long  time,  unfolding  it,  turning 
it  from  side  to  side,  staring  fixedly  at  the  writing  it 
bore.  Handing  it  back  to  the  Missionary,  she  asked 
him  to  read  it  to  her. 

The  note  was  written  by  the  use  of  phonetic  syl- 
lables, separated  here  and  there  to  make  them  appear 
words,  but  with  no  real  conception  of  where  one 
word  should  end  and  another  begin.  Many  syllables 
not  in  themselves  words  stood  alone,  and  again  many 
words  were  written  together  as  though  one.  Nothing 
was  correctly  spelled.  Read  aloud,  it  sounded  like 
Spanish;  looked  at,  it  made  no  sense  at  all.  It  was, 
in  fact,  a fair  sample  of  the  letters  written  by  the 
one  or  two  men  in  each  village  who  pretend  that 
they  know  how  to  write  and  so  serve  as  amanuenses 
for  the  whole  village.  With  the  greatest  difficulty 
the  Missionary  made  out  from  the  rambling  syllables 
that  the  old  mother  of  Rosario  lay  ill  in  that  town 
and  begged  for  her  daughter. 

“ I go,”  declared  our  cook.  “ I go  even  now.” 

57 


58 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ And  what  do  we  do  for  a cook?  ” asked  the  Mis- 
sionary. 

“ That  little  woman  whom  I know  in  the  plaza, 
she  it  is  who  comes  to  cook  for  the  Colegio  when  I 
tell  her.” 

“ If  you  can  put  some  capable  woman  in  your 
place  in  the  kitchen,  you  may  go  for  two  weeks,  but 
we  shall  expect  you  to  return  at  the  end  of  the  fort- 
night.” 

“ Nothing  is  more  certain,  my  Senor  Doctor. 
Return  I surely  do.” 

“ How  are  you  going  to  reach  this  town?  ” 

“ I walk  on  my  feet,  of  course.” 

“ It  is  a long  journey  for  so  heavy  a woman  as 
you  are,  Rosario.  Could  not  you  go  on  the  train 
that  runs  to  Zipaquira?  That  would  take  you  half 
way.” 

“ In  all  my  life,  Doctor,  never  have  I been  on  a 
train.  That  thing  frightens  me.” 

“ Nonsense ! Take  this  money  for  your  fare  and 
ride  on  tomorrow’s  train  as  far  as  it  goes ; you  will 
have  walk  enough  after  that.  Remember  that  we  are 
counting  on  your  coming  back  in  two  weeks’  time.” 

“ I return,  Senor  Doctor,  God  permitting  it.” 

Fifteen  days  crawled  by  and  nine  women  pretend- 
ing to  be  cooks  passed  through  my  kitchen,  some  of 
them  pausing  two  or  three  hours,  some  of  them  mak- 
ing a stop  of  a day  or  two.  Three  of  them  tarried 
long  enough  to  hide  under  their  shawls  the  towels 
and  napkins  drying  on  the  lines,  and  most  of  the 
little  belongings  of  Teresa. 

The  reasons  for  their  leaving  were  trivial.  One 
morning,  with  the  Missionary  sick  upstairs  and 
Small  Son  wailing  continuously,  I was  closeted  in 
the  office  with  thirty-three  boys,  trying  to  give  a 


ROSARIO’S  VACATION 


59 


I 


lesson  in  English.  On  the  only  bench  in  the  room 
were  seated  twelve  boys,  while  the  others  were 
crammed  into  the  window-seat,  hanging  over  book- 
cases, dangling  their  feet  from  the  table ; boys  to  the 
right  of  me,  boys  to  the  left  of  me,  boys  to  the  front 
of  me  and  boys  behind  me,  and  not  one  caring 
whether  or  not  he  could  say  in  English,  “ The  blue 
bird  sits  on  the  tree.” 

The  fifth  rap  at  the  door  since  the  class  began ! 
I open  the  door  to  find  myself  confronted  by  my  cook 
of  two  days,  booted  and  spurred,  as  it  were,  for 
instant  departure.  She  stands  looking  at  me,  saying 
nothing. 

“What  does  this  mean?”  I ask,  as  I see  that  if 
there  is  to  be  any  conversation  between  us,  I shall 
have  to  commence  it. 

“ I go.  I remain  not  one  little  moment  longer.” 

“ But  why?  ” 

“ That  Valentine,  he  it  is  that  says  that  I myself 
burn  more  charcoal  than  those  other  women.” 

“ Suppose  that  you  do?  You  have  only  to  ask 
for  more  if  you  need  it.” 

“ It  is  the  truth,  then?  To  my  Senora  it  appears 
that  I burn  more  charcoal?  ” 

“ Yes,  you  do  burn  more,  but  I have  not  com- 
plained, have  I?  ” 

“ I go.  Do  me  the  favor  of  my  money.” 

“ The  money  is  locked  away,  upstairs,  and  I am  in 
class.  You  may  come  for  it  in  the  afternoon.” 

I turn  to  the  snickering  boys.  The  last  pretense 
of  interest  in  the  blue  bird  on  a tree  has  vanished. 
The  boys  know,  and  I know,  that  there  is  but  one 
common  thought  between  us;  that  deserted  kitchen 
and  the  breakfast  hour  almost  upon  us.  When  it 
comes  to  the  choice  between  studying  a foreign  lan- 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


guage  and  having  his  breakfast,  there  is  no  hesita- 
tion on  the  part  of  a boy.  I dismiss  the  class  and, 
closing  my  ears  to  the  needs  of  my  family  upstairs, 
betake  myself  to  the  kitchen. 

Indeed,  during  those  fifteen  days  of  Rosario’s 
vacation,  I spent  the  most  of  my  time  struggling 
with  the  toppling  Kettles,  blowing  charcoal  that 
would  not  burn,  weeping  from  the  smoke  and  cinders 
in  my  eyes.  I discovered  why  all  Colombian  cooks 
have  such  small  eyes  and  keep  them  half-shut.  For 
a month  after  the  cook’s  return,  I could  do  no 
studying  because  of  the  condition  of  my  eyes. 

Rosario  did  come  back.  Never  did  I think  that 
she  would,  and  I saw  in  anticipation  a long  line  of 
disappearing  cooks  being  unrolled  before  me,  extend- 
ing to  the  end  of  my  life,  which  end  I felt  would 
not  be  long  delayed  if  this  experience  continued. 
Then  Rosario  walked  in  upon  me,  and  I would  not 
care  to  say  whether  the  tears  with  which  I greeted 
her  were  provoked  by  the  smoke  or  came  from  pure 
thankfulness  and  joy. 


VIII 


MARIA  RODRIGUEZ 

CALLED  “ half-lady  ” was  Maria  because  she 
wore  shoes  on  the  street,  but  very  much  more 
than  half-lady  was  she  in  nature.  So  far  as 
looks  went  she  was  not  remarkable,  just  a quiet, 
neatly  dressed  woman,  nearing  forty  years  of  age, 
who  carried  a dignity  that  commanded  respect. 
She  came  to  the  Colegio  to  look  after  things  gen- 
erally and  after  Small  Son  particularly,  while  I 
spent  eight  hours  of  every  day  in  the  class-room 
with  the  boys,  eleven  hours  each  week  in  outside 
Bible  classes  and  five  nights  out  of  seven  in  the 
church,  eight  blocks  distant. 

Maria  was  perfectly  trustworthy,  whether  it  were 
money  or  son  that  we  committed  to  her  care.  She 
knew  far  more  about  the  possibilities  of  Colombian 
food  than  did  Rosario,  and  our  menu  never  before 
presented  so  great  a variety  or  such  tempting  viands 
as  it  did  under  her  supervision.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  keep  books,  as  Bertilda  had  done,  but  when  she 
turned  over  her  accounts  to  me  they  were  always 
correct.  She  cared  for  Small  Son  from  the  time 
she  dressed  and  fed  him  in  the  morning,  after  I had 
gone  to  class,  until  she  bathed  him  and  put  him  to 
bed  for  the  night.  Usually  I told  him  his  good-night 
story,  but  if  I failed  to  appear  Maria  invented  one 
for  him.  In  the  afternoon  she  took  him  for  a long 
walk  to  a park  and  returned  on  a street  car,  which 

61 


62 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


always  greatly  delighted  the  child.  Later,  sitting  on 
the  floor  surrounded  by  hosiery  and  blocks,  she  alter- 
nately mended  stockings  and  helped  build  trains. 
When  I would  leave  them  to  go  to  my  work,  my  son 
would  kiss  his  fingers  at  me  and  remark,  smilingly, 
“ May  you  go  contentedly  and  very  far,”  as  his 
Maria  had  taught  him  to  do.  I never  had  reason  to 
believe  that  she  was  anything  but  patient  and  loving 
with  the  little  boy  whom  she  trained  to  obedience  and 
decorum. 

Did  callers  arrive  while  I was  in  the  class-room, 
Maria  would  take  them  to  the  parlor  and  pleasantly 
entertain  them  until  I could  go  to  them.  When  we 
entertained  our  friends  at  dinner  I depended  greatly 
upon  the  woman ; she  had  been  head  servant  for 
some  years  at  the  Spanish  legation  and  she  knew 
what  was  proper  for  a dinner  in  Bogota.  A bower 
of  beauty  would  she  make  the  dining-room,  the  table 
glowing  under  a wealth  of  brilliant  poppies  or  soft 
sweet-peas,  dotted  with  confetti.  With  her  own 
hands  she  would  prepare  delicious  soups  out  of  (to 
me)  unknown  materials,  form  wondrous  curlicues 
from  ordinary  potatoes  and  produce  beautiful  crea- 
tions which  she  called  desserts.  Then  she  would  tuck 
her  fluffy  dark  hair  under  a tiny  lace  cap  and  per- 
form prodigies  with  the  uncouth  dining-room  girl. 
Maria  never  made  mistakes  in  serving  the  courses, 
was  always  her  gracious,  attractive  self  in  the  doing 
of  it. 

A poor  old  woman,  a member  of  our  church,  was 
reported  dying.  As  neither  the  Missionary  nor  I 
could  possibly  leave  our  work  at  that  hour  to  go 
to  her,  we  sent  Maria,  who  found  the  woman  dan- 
gerously ill  from  pneumonia,  and  alone.  Maria 
thought  that  she  knew  someone  who  might  be 


Bertilda  Maria  Rodriguez,  presiding  at  small 

and  the  “Siwash.”  son’s  third-birthday  fiesta. 


Maria  Jesus  escorts  he  children  to  Tereza,  the  only  Colombian  servant 
the  park,  Benigna  carrying  baby  boy.  with  negro  blood  ever  with  us. 


MARfA  RODRIGUEZ 


63 


secured  to  care  for  the  sick  woman,  so  went  to  see 
if  she  could  find  the  helper.  It  was  nearly  dark 
when  she,  weary,  with  white  paindrawn  face  (for  she 
was  not  a strong  woman),  returned  to  report  that 
her  quest  was  vain ; she  had  found  no  one. 

After  dinner  the  Missionary  and  I hurried  over  to 
see  the  sick  woman.  We  found  her  in  the  dampest, 
moldiest  room  I have  ever  seen,  festoons  of  cobwebs 
hanging  from  the  ceiling,  chairs  dropping  to  pieces 
from  decay.  There  in  a filthy  bed  lay  the  poor 
creature,  having  received  no  care  and  but  little  food 
for  three  days.  We  decided  that  if  we  did  not  wish 
her  to  die  there  alone  we  should  have  to  take  her 
to  the  Colegio,  since  we  knew  of  no  one  whom  we 
could  get  to  stay  with  her  and  care  for  her. 

Of  the  policeman  who  was  stationed  in  front  of 
her  door,  waiting  for  her  to  die,  we  asked  permission 
to  move  her.  He  referred  us  to  the  captain  of  the 
district,  whom  the  Missionary  set  out  to  find.  I 
returned  to  the  Colegio  and  sent  back  Valentine 
with  bathrobe,  steamer-rug,  blankets,  while  Maria 
and  I cleared  the  ironing-room,  confiscated  the 
bed  of  an  absent  boy,  and  set  it  up  in  the  room. 
Maria  heated  water,  and  all  was  in  readiness  when 
the  Missionary  arrived,  bringing  the  poor  old  woman 
in  a coach.  She  was  in  an  indescribable  condition, 
but  Maria  did  not  object  to  assisting  me  to  bathe 
her  and  to  put  her  into  some  of  our  things  before 
we  laid  her  on  the  clean  bed.  Marfa  was  herself 
too  ill  for  me  to  allow  her  to  stay  with  the  woman 
that  first  night,  although  she  offered  to  do  it  for 
me ; after  that  night  she  cheerfully  took  her  turn  at 
watching,  and  was  faithful  in  helping  us  until  we 
found  someone  who  could  devote  her  whole  time  to 
caring  for  the  sick  woman. 


64 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Marfa  Rodriguez  was  the  most  valuable  servant  I 
have  ever  had,  and  a sensible  companionable  woman 
besides. 

We  were  sent  to  open  a new  station  in  a city  out 
towards  the  Venezuelan  border.  When  we  removed 
to  the  city  in  “ hot  country,”  Marfa  could  not  go 
with  us,  as  we  desired  her  to  do,  since  from  the  four 
dollars  per  month  that  I paid  her  she  was  caring  for 
her  old  mother  who  would  not  consent  to  leave 
Bogota  or  to  have  Marfa  leave  her.  Shortly  after 
our  departure  the  doctors  said  that  Marfa  should 
undergo  an  operation,  and  she  was  taken  to  the  city 
hospital,  at  that  time  so  crowded  that  one-half  the 
patients,  nearly  one  thousand  in  number,  some  of 
them  surgical  cases,  were  lying  on  the  floors — the 
cold  brick  floors  of  clammy  Bogota! 

Marfa  was  operated  upon,  successfully,  and  the 
doctors  said  that  she  would  be  quite  all  right  within 
a few  days.  Two  nights  later  the  nuns,  who  are  the 
only  nurses,  had  the  patient  sit  up  in  a chair  while 
they  changed  the  bed-linen.  Marfa  died  from  hemor- 
rhage a little  later — a useful  life  sacrificed  to  igno- 
rance. 


IX 


CESAR 

WE  were  eleven  days  on  our  journey  from 
Bogota  to  the  city  in  “ hot  country  ” 
where  we  now  dwell.  The  first  three  days 
out  we  had  three  mule-drivers,  a new  one  each  day. 
Number  One  developed  a sore  foot,  and  could  not  go 
on.  Number  Two  put  the  cargoes  upon  the  mules  so 
badly  that  they  fell  off  every  few  hours  and  were 
constantly  being  readjusted.  In  the  one  day  the 
backs  of  several  of  the  mules  were  cut  and  lacerated 
from  the  bad  loading.  Number  Three  was  half 
drunk,  and  departed  in  the  stillness  of  night  carry- 
ing with  him  everything  about  the  montura  that  he 
could  manage,  spurs,  cargo-straps,  a saddle-blanket. 

Then  our  luck  changed;  we  secured  Cesar,  an 
intelligent,  unlettered  youth  who  had  lost  all  his 
front  teeth.  From  the  first  day  we  enjoyed  his  quaint 
conversation,  his  stories  of  thrilling  adventure,  his 
homely  philosophy  of  life.  By  his  simple  recitals 
there  was  laid  open  before  us  the  inwardness  of  the 
life  of  a mule-driver,  in  all  its  dreary  ugliness ; the 
responsibility  for  his  own  animals  and  for  those  not 
his  own,  the  endless  hours  of  plodding  barefooted, 
under  blistering  sun,  up  steep  trails,  down  jagged 
descents,  of  risking  his  life  to  save  a cargo  when 
fording  turbulent  streams,  of  awkward  struggles 
with  “ crazy  ” mules,  who  persisted  in  tying  down 
with  a cargo,  or  in  crowding  some  mate  over  a cliff, 

65 


66 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


of  days  with  a pitiful  allowance  of  food  or  with  no 
food  at  all,  of  nights  lying  close  crowded  in  a packed, 
suffocating  hut  where  he  was  not  able  to  uncrumple 
himself  atid  stretch  out.  All  this  and  more  was 
revealed  to  us,  unconsciously,  by  our  simple-hearted, 
good-natured  man  who  never  once  complained  of  his 
lot. 

He  cared  so  faithfully  for  our  mules,  was  so  wise 
in  the  loading  and  driving  of  them,  that  they  kept 
in  perfect  condition,  a thing  very  unusual  in  an 
eleven-day  journey.  He  was  equally  thoughtful  of 
our  comfort  and  well-being,  and  helped  us  to  bear 
cheerfully  the  hard  knocks  of  the  trip,  smoothing 
them  all  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  do.  The 
almost  insurmountable  difficulty  that  beset  us  upon 
the  whole  journey  was  the  obtaining  of  food  for 
ourselves  and  our  beasts  of  burden.  One  may  exist 
for  a long  time  on  a little  salty  water,  known  as 
beef-tea  (provided  that  one  can  obtain  the  water!), 
but  mules  must  be  fed,  unless  one  wishes  to  find  him- 
self sitting  stranded  on  some  mountain  side  with  an 
exhausted  or  a dead  animal  under  him. 

One  night  we  seemed  to  have  met  our  Waterloo. 
By  urging  our  mules  over  difficult  trails  we  had 
managed,  just  before  dark,  to  reach  a lone  house 
stretching  its  considerable  length  along  a rocky 
ledge,  and  looking  white  and  inviting  as  we  plodded 
up  to  it.  ’Tis  a way  they  have,  these  Colombian 
hostleries,  of  appearing  chaste  and  attractive  from 
a distance,  especially  if  the  setting  sun  touches  up 
their  white-washed  walls  with  a blaze  of  gold.  But 
we  are  not  deceived  thereby;  too  well  we  know  the 
dirty,  crawly  interior,  the  filthy,  smelly  surround- 
ings of  the  from-a-distance  fair  white  buildings. 

As  we  approached  the  inn  we  caught  a glimpse, 


CESAR 


67 


on  the  opposite  side  of  a deep  gorge  that  was  mate- 
rializing in  front  of  us,  of  a narrow  river  falling 
a sheer  five  hundred  feet  into  a pent-in  crevice  below. 
The  fall  was  so  perpendicular,  the  distance  so  great, 
and  the  volume  of  water  so  inconsiderable  that, 
directly  the  water  had  left  its  mountain  bed,  it  was 
converted  into  floating  spray  which  spread  out  to 
fill  the  gorge.  Our  eyes  on  this  phenomenon  we  per- 
mitted our  weary  animals  to  stumble  up  the  last  cliff 
and  land  us  jerkily  in  the  midst  of  the  motionless, 
staring  group  of  muleteers  who  lounged  about  the 
door  of  the  inn. 

Before  we  dismounted,  the  Missionary  and  Cesar 
extracted  such  information  from  the  proprietor  of 
the  inn  as  they  were  able.  Why  is  it  so  difficult  for 
some  races  of  people  to  give  a direct  answer  to  a 
direct  question?  It  required  a tiresome  half  hour  for 
us  to  learn : no,  there  was  nothing  for  any  animal. 
Yes,  of  course  our  mules  could  spend  the  night  in 
the  corral  but  there  was  nothing,  no  grass,  no  water 
in  that  corral;  for  weeks  it  had  been  dry,  but  quite 
dry.  No,  nothing,  but  nothing,  was  there  to  cut  for 
them.  Yes,  all  those  sacks  contained  green  coffee ; 
did  the  senor  think  in  feeding  that  to  his  animals? 
Impatiently,  slouched  wearily  in  our  saddles,  we  sat 
our  humped,  spiritless  mules,  whose  ears  lopped  as 
dejectedly  as  though  they  understood  the  conversa- 
tion and  realized  that  their  fate  hung  in  the  balance. 

At  last  the  proprietor  admitted  that  he  had  green 
sugar-cane  growing,  but  added  that  no  one  could  be 
found  to  go  for  it  now  that  the  darkness  had  settled, 
soft  and  warm,  about  us.  The  Missionary  under- 
stood the  futility  of  asking  any  man  to  risk  his  life 
in  a canefield  after  dark,  in  a wild  tumultuous  region 
peopled  by  snakes.  But  he  offered  good  money  to 


68 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


any  man  who  would  lend  him  a machete,  saying  that 
he  would  attempt  to  cut  the  cane  himself.  Cesar 
showed  his  toothless  gums  in  a grin  as  he  remarked: 

“ Doctor,  you  cannot  do  that  thing.  Ever  in  your 
whole  life  have  you  cut  anything  with  a machete?” 
The  Missionary  reluctantly  admitting  that  he  never 
had,  the  man  continued,  “ I go ; I cut  that  cane,  the 
animals  are  fed.  Do  you,  Doctor,  attend  to  some 
beds  for  the  Senora,  the  Senorito  and  your  honorable 
self.” 

“ But,  Cesar,  you  have  three  hours’  work  before 
you  with  these  mules ; they  are  all  to  be  unloaded, 
their  backs  washed  down,  the  cargoes  taken  care  of, 
— you  ought  not  to  go.” 

“ I go,  I do  it  all  in  time.”  And  off  the  weary, 
foot-sore  fellow  went,  cheerfully  rendering  the  extra 
service. 

The  Missionary,  by  paying  ridiculous  sums,  finally 
induced  a half-dozen  men  to  go  to  Cesar’s  assist- 
ance ; thus  was  the  cane  speedily  and  safely  cut. 
Then  commenced  the  monotonous  chop,  chop,  chop, 
which  we  had  learned  to  know  so  well.  The  cane  is 
haggled  into  bits  before  it  is  fed  the  mules,  who 
devour  it  most  greedily,  stalk  and  seed. 

We  held  another  protracted  conversation  with  the 
proprietor.  It  has  ever  seemed  strange  to  me  that 
Colombian  inn-keepers  are  so  reluctant  to  receive 
good,  paying  guests.  No,  there  was  no  room  apart 
for  the  Senora.  All  travelers  slept  on  the  floor 
of  the  dining-room.  Yes,  the  muleteers  would 
sleep  on  that  same  floor.  No,  the  table  was 
too  narrow  to  make  up  a bed  for  the  Senora ; 
it  was  just  a single  plank,  could  she  sleep  on 
that  and  not  roll  off  on  the  men  under  the  table? 
Not  a glimmer  of  humor  could  we  distinguish  on 


CESAR 


69 


the  man’s  seamed  face  or  in  his  half-shut  eyes  as  he 
held  his  cigarette  between  his  fingers  and,  with  an 
exceedingly  bored  expression,  replied  with  the  utmost 
indifference  to  our  questions. 

The  Missionary  persisted  until  he  secured  per- 
mission for  us  to  sleep  in  the  coffee  store-room,  which 
opened  into  the  corral  where  scores  of  mules  were 
stabled.  Have  you  any  idea  what  an  overpowering, 
repugnant  odor  thousands  of  pounds  of  fresh  green 
coffee  have?  We  balanced  ourselves  on  the  immense 
sacks  and  listened  to  the  braying  and  fighting  of  the 
mules,  punctuated  by  the  protesting  cackle  of  the 
barnyard  fowls,  and  the  howl  of  the  usual  contingent 
of  dogs. 

Fortunately  the  night  was  short.  We  arose  at 
half  past  two  and  by  moonlight,  bright  beyond  all 
belief,  took  our  plunge  in  an  ice-cold  mountain- 
stream.  We  were  in  the  saddle  long  before  daylight. 
Cesar  it  was  that  advised  so  ambitious  a start ; he 
was  very  nervous  concerning  that  day’s  stretch  of 
trail.  We  had  a difficult  bit  of  travel  ahead  of  us ; 
the  descent  of  a precipice,  five  thousand  feet  into  a 
gorge,  the  crossing  of  the  river  responsible  for  the 
gorge,  and,  on  the  other  side,  a straight  clamber  of 
six  thousand  feet  to  a paramo,  a tableland  desert. 

It  was  an  enchanting  hour  for  a ride.  The  soft 
dim  radiance  of  the  moon  with  her  quiet  subdued 
light  had  a most  soothing  effect  upon  us,  after  many 
days  of  the  blistering  glare  of  sun  on  white  rocks. 
Things  around  us  took  phantom  shape  and  grew 
interesting  from  their  very  air  of  mystery.  The 
gorges  on  either  side  of  us,  as  we  slowly  felt  our 
dim  way  along  the  cliff,  were  brimful  of  the  white 
chiffon  of  dropped-down  clouds,  so  close  we  could 
almost  reach  out  our  hands  and  touch  it.  The 


70 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


drapery  of  the  skies,  lavender  vestments  embroidered 
with  silver  stars,  seemed  about  to  descend  upon  our 
shoulders.  The  gurgle  of  a brook  near  at  hand  and 
the  music  of  a distant  waterfall  were  in  our  ears,  the 
perfume  of  flowering  trees  and  the  scent  of  dewy 
shrubs  were  in  our  nostrils,  the  friendly  pressing 
embrace  of  the  woods  was  about  us  and  the  magic 
of  the  calm  cool  night  possessed  us.  We  wondered 
why  we  had  been  journeying  in  the  hot,  restless  day 
when  we  might  have  traveled  in  the  dim,  peaceful 
might.  I put  the  question  to  Cesar. 

“ My  Senora,  I beseech  you  be  prayerful  not 
frivolous  at  the  beginning  of  this  so  terrible  a 
journey.  And  listen  to  me;  let  your  mule  do  his 
will,  do  not  you  try  to  guide  him.  Look  you  at  the 
mountains  and  the  gorges,  so  many  are  those  gorges, 
and  beautiful ! When  that  sun  rises  it  will  be  won- 
derful, but  wonderful ; the  thing  most  beautiful  that 
ever  you  saw.  Look  at  that,  but  look  not  down. 
Your  mule,  let  him  alone;  he 'knows  how  to  go.  Do 
not  you  touch  the  reins,  neither  do  you  look  at  the 
trail.” 

At  the  first  pink  flush  of  daylight  we  commenced 
the  descent.  By  ninety-five  steep,  short  inclines, 
turning  every  six  feet  to  face  the  opposite  direction, 
we  slid  and  floundered  down  the  precipice  and  two 
hours  after  sunrise  found  ourselves  perpendicularly 
under  our  starting  point,  five  thousand  feet  above  us. 
We  caught  the  first  faint  glimmer  of  dawn  gliding 
stealthily  over  the  mountains,  searching  out  the  giant 
forms  of  towering  cliff’s.  We  descried  the  spirit  of 
the  night,  fleeing,  leaping  from  cliff  to  cliff,  skulking, 
hiding,  trying  to  escape  the  mocking  smile  of  her 
enemy,  the  sun.  Reaching  fingers  of  light  pointed 
out  to  us,  one  by  one,  the  gulches,  the  ravines,  the 


CESAR 


71 


overhanging  cliffs,  clothed  in  clinging  draperies  of 
grey  mist.  Scores  of  mountain  peaks  gleamed  into 
view,  and  dozens  of  gulches  sneaked  in  the  shadows 
at  their  bases.  The  grey  mists  fled  after  the  night 
and  blue  and  silver  lights  slipped  into  their  places. 
Shadows  took  form  and,  here  and  there,  gigantic 
trees  loomed  threateningly.  Rosy  tints  kissed  moun- 
tain crests  while  the  soft  blues  dropped  lower  and 
lower  until  they  blended  with  the  indigo  of  the 
gorges.  Splashes  of  color  began  to  dash  them- 
selves promiscuously  on  steep  slopes,  and  rock-layers 
flamed  with  brilliant  hues.  Presently  all  the  battle- 
ments and  turrets  blazed  forth  in  full  glory,  and  the 
pleasing  lights  and  shadows  modestly  retired  farther 
and  farther  into  the  ravines. 

It  was  with  a distinct  sense  of  loss  that  we  watched 
the  full  glare  of  day  turned  upon  this  elusive  scene. 
As  eager  expectation  is  more  pleasurable  than  ful- 
fillment, so  was  the  mystical  light  of  the  moon,  which 
left  much  to  the  imagination,  preferable  to  the 
garish  flame  of  day  thrown  recklessly  on  every  crack 
and  crevice  of  jagged  mountain  side.  Like  the  light 
of  public  life  it  brought  out  ugliness  as  well  as 
beauty  and  strength,  and  it  left  nothing  to  the 
imagination.  Every  streak  and  fault  in  rock  forma- 
tion, brilliant  reds,  purples,  yellows,  thrown  boldly 
against  each  other,  gaping  throats  of  dry  river  beds, 
sparkle  and^dash  of  mountain  cascade, — nothing  was 
hidden.  The  merciless  sun  painted  everything  clearly 
for  our  gaze  long  before  he  showed  his  blazing  face 
to  us  above  a mountain. 

The  contrast  in  color  was  most  striking;  no  artist 
would  have  dared  reproduce  it.  Limpid  lakes  of 
soft  blue  and  silver  hung  suspended  around  peaks, 
the  indigo  of  deep  ocean,  splashed  recklessly  with 


72 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


browns  and  yellows,  daubed  mountain  slopes,  blood- 
red  streaks  slashed  and  gashed  faces  of  cliffs,  a nar- 
row silver  thread,  which  was  a river  framed  in  vivid 
green,  glinted  through  each  ravine,  while  peaks, 
cliffs,  gorges,  ravines, — all  were  suffused  in  the  wilder 
lights  of  purple  and  orange.  Here  was  nature  most 
lavish.  Within  the  sweep  of  the  human  eye  she 
flashed  out  all  her  beauties,  and  caused  puny  man 
to  hold  his  breath  in  awed  amazement. 

The  descent  was  made  in  absolute  silence  but  for 
the  click  of  the  feet  of  our  mules.  Once  Cesar  stood 
in  my  path  and  put  a detaining  hand  on  the  bridle 
of  my  mule  as  he  directed  my  attention  to  the  sheer 
fall  of  thousands  of  feet  below  us. 

“ It  was  at  this  point,  Senora,  that  I lost  a mule, 
but  my  very  best,  on  the  trip  before  this.  A fly  bit 
him,  he  reared,  and  went  over  backwards,  crashing 
to  the  bottom.  There  it  was,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
mountain,  that  I took  that  cargo  of  coffee  from 
him ; but,  oh,  it  was  awful ! The  Senora  thought  I 
need  not  to  be  so  anxious  for  this  trip ; now  she 
sees?  In  the  gorge  below  there,  where  you  see  the 
shimmer  of  that  big  river  with  the  flashing  high 
bridge,  there  it  is  that  we  take  our  breakfast;  but  we 
must  be  quick.  In  that  vale  there  is  a fly,  a most 
pernicious  fly ; if  he  but  bites  the  animals  they  are 
dead  at  once.  It  is  he  I am  afraid  of.  It  makes  six 
months  that  he  bit  one  of  my  mules  and  she  died 
then.” 

“ So  you  have  lost  two  mules  recently,  Cesar?  I 
am  sorry  for  that!  ” 

“ You  have  my  many  thanks,  Senora,”  with  grave 
dignity.  “ Yes,  it  makes  me  a poor  man,  to  be  sure. 
For  neither  of  those  mules  had  I yet  paid;  I pay  for 
them  now,  little  by  little,  and  they  are  both  dead.” 


CESAR 


73 


Cesar  helped  us  find  lodging  when  we  reached  the 
large  city  where  we  were  to  commence  work,  and 
where  we  knew  no  one.  On  his  subsequent  visits  to 
our  city  he  came  to  inquire  for  our  welfare.  We 
discovered  that  the  meagre  profit  he  derived  from  his 
trips  was  eaten  up  at  the  tiendas,  a combination  of 
inn  and  grog-shop,  so  whenever  he  was  in  the  city 
we  allowed  him  to  stay  in  our  house,  after  we  had 
succeeded  in  renting  one.  One  night  he  brought  with 
him  a tall  muscular  fellow,  a giant  in  strength,  whom 
he  introduced  as  a friend  of  his  and  for  whom  he 
begged  the  privilege  of  being  allowed  to  sleep  in  the 
house.  After  Cesar  had  set  off  on  his  journey  to 
Bogota,  Francisco  returned  again  and  again  to  stay 
at  our  house.  As  he,  too,  was  a muleteer,  I won- 
dered at  his  long  stop  in  the  city. 

One  night  when  wre  had  left  him  as  usual,  lying 
on  the  floor  of  our  zaguan  with  his  ruana  wrapped 
about  his  head  and  the  rest  of  his  body  guiltless  of 
bed-clothes,  I heard  the  sudden  tinkle  of  a dish 
pushed  against  another.  Awakening  the  Missionary, 
I whispered: 

“ Someone  is  in  the  dining-room.  I believe  it  is 
Francisco.” 

The  Missionary,  light  in  hand,  hurried  to  the 
dining-room.  There  stood  the  man,  apparently  too 
slow  of  wit  to  move  or  to  make  any  effort  to  hide 
himself. 

“ Francisco,  what  are  you  doing  here?  ” the  Mis- 
sionary gravely  inquired. 

“ It  is  only  that  I am  with  a hunger  very  great 
and  I thought  perhaps  I find  something  to  eat 
here.” 

“ If  you  were  hungry  why  did  you  not  ask  us  for 
food?  We  would  have  given  it  you.” 


74 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ I am  no  beggar,  Senor ! ” drawing  himself  up 
with  insulted  dignity. 

“ I will  get  you  food  now,”  and,  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word,  the  Missionary  came  to  ask  me  for  the 
keys  of  the  cupboard. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  after  you 
feed  him?  ” I asked. 

“ Why,  what  should  I do  with  him?  ” 

“ You  will  please  lock  him  in  some  room  until 
morning.  I shall  not  feel  safe  with  him  prowling 
about  the  house.” 

“ After  he  eats  he  will  go  to  sleep,  I doubt  not. 
He  will  be  ashamed  of  himself.” 

“ Do  not  count  on  it.  Coals  of  fire  rarely  burn 
on  a Colombian’s  head.  I prefer  that  you  lock 
him  up.” 

“But  where?  There  is  only  one  room,  the  dark 
room,  that  I can  lock  in  this  house.” 

“ What  difference  does  the  darkness  of  a room 
make  to  him  in  the  middle  of  the  night?  Put  him 
in  the  dark  room,  by  all  means.” 

Very  reluctantly,  and  with  many  apologies  to  the 
man,  the  Missionary  locked  him  in  the  dark  room, 
releasing  him  at  the  first  promise  of  day.  I felt 
that  Francisco  should  be  told  that,  since  he  had 
abused  his  privilege,  he  could  not  sleep  in  our  house 
again;  evidently  the  Missionary  did  not  wish  to  go 
to  such  lengths,  as  within  the  week  the  man  again 
applied  at  the  door  for  admittance. 


X 


BARBARA 

Barbara  was  the  first  woman  to  offer  herself 
for  service  in  our  new  home.  After  several 
days  of  struggling  on  alone  in  the  extreme 
heat,  trying  to  arrange  our  few  possessions  in  the 
house  we  had  at  last  secured,  I was  glad  to  accept 
the  girl,  as  unpromising  in  appearance  as  she  was. 
A soiled  garment,  torn  places  held  together  by 
safety-pins,  straight  black  hair  hanging  unkemptly 
about  a greasy-looking  face,  feet  dirty  beyond 
description, — was  it  any  wonder  that  the  Missionary 
remarked : 

“ What  do  you  expect  to  make  out  of  that  crea- 
ture? We  cannot  take  all  that  filth  into  the  kitchen.” 
“ She  explains  that  she  has  come  from  the  coun- 
try, has  been  two  days  on  the  trail  and  is  travel- 
stained.  She  will  bathe  and  change  tomorrow  and 
be  ready  to  prepare  the  noon  breakfast.  I intend 
to  try  her.” 

Most  Colombian  servants  are  specialists  of  the 
highest  degree.  She  who  cooks  will  not  serve  the 
meal ; she  who  serves  at  table  will  not  cook ; she  who 
irons  will  not  sweep ; the  dining-room  girl  will  not 
wash  dishes ; only  a cook  can  be  prevailed  upon  to 
do  the  marketing,  but  the  cook  cannot  be  induced 
to  approach  an  ironing-board ; and  there  you  are ! 
All  work  that  the  servants  refuse  to  do  falls  to  the 
lot  of  the  mistress. 


75 


76 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Barbara  was  simple  and  unpretending.  She  was 
content  to  be  an  all-around  general  housemaid,  and 
was  not  above  doing  anything  that  was  asked  of  her. 
The  vigorous  way  in  which  she  despatched  the  six- 
o’clock  coffee,  tidied  herself  up  and  was  ready  before 
seven  to  do  the  day’s  marketing  was  a refreshing 
sight.  On  Saturdays,  bent  double  under  the  week’s 
supply  of  vegetables  and  fruit,  she  hurried  home 
from  the  plaza  to  help  me  with  the  sweeping  and  the 
cleaning.  As  we  had  not  yet  opened  a school,  we 
lived  simply  and  happily  with  the  one  servant  and 
she  had  leisure  hours  at  her  disposal,  but  she  drew 
the  line  at  one  thing;  she  would  not  scrub.  So  men, 
women,  children — anything  that  we  could  get  from 
the  street — were  enticed  in,  by  ones  and  by  twos, 
to  try  their  luck  at  scrubbing. 

We  have  learned  the  futility  of  attempting  to 
teach  a Colombian  to  scrub.  Real  scrubbing  is  an 
unknown  art,  practiced  by  no  one,  and  with  none  to 
be  found  with  an  ambition  to  learn  it.  A world 
that  has  existed  all  these  ages  without  scrubbing  can 
continue  so  to  exist  for  all  any  Colombian  servant 
cares. 

When  I was  new  to  Bogota  and  lay  ill  (from 
overwork  and  overzeal),  I watched  seven  women  on 
six  successive  days  paddle  in  water,  occasionally 
splashing  and  dabbing  at  one  door.  Then  I arose 
from  my  couch  in  desperation  and  scrubbed  the  door 
myself. 

When  we  were  about  to  move  into  another  of  the 
numerous  rented  houses  in  which  we  have  lived  in 
this  city,  the  Missionary  remarked: 

“ There  is  no  use  of  my  trying  to  secure  anyone 
to  clean  up  that  house  so  that  we  can  live  in  it.  I 
shall  have  to  do  it  myself,  first  or  last,  and  it  may 


BARBARA  77 

as  well  be  first,  before  my  patience  is  worn  to 
shreds.” 

So  he  took  a week’s  vacation  from  his  ministerial 
duties  (the  school  being  also  in  vacation)  to  scrub. 
One  door  showed  an  interesting  development.  As  he 
scrubbed  and  scraped  with  a sharp  knife,  digging 
through  successive  layers  of  dirt,  he  came  upon  what 
appeared  to  be  bread-dough.  He  called  the  man 
who  was  pottering  around,  pretending  to  help. 

“ Benito,  what  is  this?  ” 

“ Of  a truth  that  ought  to  be  bread-dough, 
Doctor.” 

“ But  see  what  quantities  of  it  are  on  this  door 
after  I scrape  off  the  top  layers  of  filth ! ” 

“ It  is  of  a truth,  Doctor;  but  there  is  much.” 

“ Was  this  house  ever  used  as  a bakery?  ” 

“ It  does  not  so  appear  to  me.  It  is  not  so  in  my 
life-time.” 

However  Benito’s  old  mother,  coming  up  to  hear 
what  the  Doctor  was  talking  about,  well  remembered 
that,  more  than  twenty  years  before,  the  house  had 
been  a public  bakery,  and  this  very  room  was  used 
as  the  mixing-room.  It  had  remained  for  the 
American  Missionary  to  clean  the  dough  off  the  door 
twenty  years  after  its  accumulation. 

Speaking  of  scrubbing,  a vivid  picture  flashes  be- 
fore me.  We  were  in  Bogota  and  we  were  trying 
to  teach  Dominga  to  scrub,  but  our  instructions  were 
constantly  interrupted  by  the  quarreling  and  whin- 
ing of  the  woman’s  two  children.  Suddenly,  exas- 
perated, she  seized  one  of  her  children  by  the  back  of 
the  neck  and  ducked  him  into  the  scrubbing-bucket, 
pushing  his  head  down  under  the  water,  not  one,  but 
a dozen  times,  until  we  protested  that  the  child  would 
be  drowned.  Giving  him  a good  shake  by  way  of 


78 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


drying  him,  she  deposited  him  summarily  in  the 
court,  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun.  The  Missionary 
remarked  that  the  little  bronze  fellow,  sitting  immov- 
able, looked  exactly  like  a Chinese  god. 

The  flaw  in  Barbara’s  character  soon  made  itself 
apparent.  We  had  purchased  a kettle,  a good, 
expensive,  made-in-Germany  kettle,  which  we  had 
never  yet  used.  Deciding  to  have  puchero  for  break- 
fast, I told  Barbara  to  prepare  it  in  the  new  kettle 
since  none  of  the  old  earthen  pots  would  hold  it. 

“ And  where  is  the  kettle,  my  Senora?  ” she  asked. 

“ Why,  you  have  it  in  the  kitchen,  to  be  sure.” 

“ I,  no ! That  kettle  is  certainly  not  in  the 
kitchen.” 

A vigilant  search,  commencing  in  the  kitchen  and 
ending  in  the  parlor,  revealed  no  kettle.  It  was  not 
in  the  house,  yet  no  one  had  access  to  the  kitchen, 
except  Barbara  herself. 

In  Colombia  we  keep  under  lock  and  key  all  silver- 
ware not  actually  needed  for  each  meal.  One  day,  as 
we  seated  ourselves  at  the  table,  I found  neither  knife, 
fork  nor  spoon  at  my  place. 

“ You  have  forgotten  to  set  a place  for  me,  Bar- 
bara,” I remarked. 

“ But  Senora,  I cannot  find  either  the  knife  or 
the  fork  of  you,  and  the  spoons  are  nowhere.  They 
are  not  in  that  cupboard,  surely.  Who  knows  where 
they  are?” 

“ Barbara,  you  know  they  must  be  in  the  cup- 
board. You  are  the  only  person  in  the  house  except 
ourselves ; if  they  are  lost  I shall  hold  you  account- 
able for  them.” 

“ There  are  none,  my  Senora,”  doggedly. 

And  none  there  continued  to  be  until  I went  to  a 
trunk,  unlocked  it,  and  took  out  another  set.  Of 


BARBARA 


79 


what  use  to  discuss  the  matter?  Of  what  use  to  keep 
back  Barbara’s  paltry  wages?  She  needed  them,  and 
all  that  I could  give  her  besides,  to  dress  herself  even 
half  decently  to  appear  on  the  street  as  our  servant. 

Thus  it  went  on.  One  little  thing  after  another 
disappeared.  One  day  it  was  a pair  of  Small  Son’s 
shoes ; another,  three  new  umbrellas  brought  from 
Bogota  and  of  value  in  Colombia.  The  girl  must 
have  realized  that  we  knew  she  was  selling  our  things 
in  the  streets,  probably  for  a small  fraction  of  their 
value.  Why  put  up  with  it?  I was  ill,  had  under- 
gone an  operation  under  the  open  sky  of  our  patio, 
by  doctors  who  never  in  their  lives  had  performed 
the  operation ; they  had  read  up  on  it,  and  talked 
it  over  with  us,  so  they  ventured  it.  For  many 
weeks  I hung  to  life  by  a slight  thread,  with  no 
nurse  but  the  Missionary  and  no  servant  but  Bar- 
bara. She  was  good  to  Small  Son,  not  yet  four 
years  old,  so  she  stayed. 

One  scorching  afternoon  she  offered  to  take  the 
child  for  an  hour  to  the  park,  a block  away,  as  for 
weeks  he  had  not  been  outside  the  heated  house,  where 
was  not  a green  thing,  scarcely  a breath  of  air. 
The  seemingly  interminable  hours  of  the  afternoon 
dragged  by.  Barbara  and  Small  Son  did  not  appear. 
At  last,  just  as  darkness  swooped  down  upon  us, 
she  approached  my  bed,  dragging  a very  weary  little 
boy  after  her.  At  the  welcome  sight  of  him  a great 
rush  of  relief  stopped  for  an  instant  the  beat  of 
my  heart.  Kidnaping  is  not  unheard  of,  even  in 
Colombia.  An  attractive  foreign  child  in  the  hands 
of  an  unscrupulous  woman  who  had  been  selling 
everything  that  she  could  conveniently  carry  out  of 
the  house, — I had  cause  for  apprehension. 

“ Oh,  Barbara,  where  have  you  been  all  these 


80 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


hours?  My  heart  has  been  sick,  I have  worried  so 
about  Son.” 

“ It  is  not  that  we  have  been  in  any  place  par- 
ticular, my  Senora.  It  is  that  we  passed  by  the 
bridge  of  that  little  stream  for  that  street  where 
went  you  and  the  Doctor  to  baptise  those  children 
of  Don  Rafael.” 

“ You  never  took  Son  away  out  there  in  this 
heat ! Why,  it  is  a good  five-mile  walk ! ” 

“ Of  course,  no.  So  far  as  that  we  do  not  go.  It 
is  merely  that  we  seat  ourselves  under  a tree  by  the 
road;  then  we  return  here.” 

Small  Son  stood  regarding  her  solemnly,  but  said 
nothing.  It  was  not  until  many  months  later  that 
he  confessed  the  truth,  and  even  then  it  was  inad- 
vertently done.  We  were  in  the  States  when  some- 
one asked  us  if  we  had  ever  tasted  the  fried  ants 
which  in  Colombia  are  considered  the  greatest  of  all 
delicacies. 

“ No,  none  of  us  ever  have,  although  we  have  had 
many  opportunities  to  do  so,”  replied  the  Missionary. 

“ Yes,  Father,  I have,”  spoke  up  Small  Son.  “ Do 
you  remember  the  time  when  Mama  was  so  sick  and 
that  day  when  Barbara  took  me  for  a walk?  She 
told  Mama  that  we  did  not  go  as  far  as  Don 
Rafael’s,  but  we  did,  and  they  gave  me  fried  ants  to 
eat.  I do  not  like  them ; they  are  too  peppery.” 

One  morning  a few  days  after  the  walk,  Barbara, 
dressed  in  her  starchiest  things,  came  to  my  bed  to 
announce  that  she  was  leaving. 

“Leaving,  Barbara?  But  why?” 

“ It  makes  too  much  to  do  with  the  Senora  straight 
in  bed.  I go.” 

And  go  she  did,  in  spite  of  our  protests.  In  fact 
we  learned  that  she  had  carried  away  her  box  the 


BARBARA 


81 


night  before  in  fear  that  we  should  examine  it  for 
missing  articles,  a thing  it  would  never  have  occurred 
to  us  to  do. 

A meek  little  woman  with  a month-old  baby  tied 
to  her  breast  took  Barbara’s  place  and  messed 
around  in  the  kitchen.  She  informed  us  that  Bar- 
bara had  gone  to  a home  of  her  own,  to  be  established 
by  a policeman  in  a little  hut  at  the  edge  of  the 
city.  This  accounted  for  the  disappearance  of  our 
silver,  kettles  and  glassware.  Surely  Barbara  was 
setting  up  house-keeping  in  style ! 

As  a rule  these  “ homes  ” are  not  furnished  beyond 
a clay  pot  or  two,  a few  boxes  for  chairs,  and  a mat 
which,  spread  on  the  floor,  serves  as  a bed.  There 
is  no  table,  no  bedstead,  no  chairs.  A piece  of  gourd 
takes  the  place  of  spoons,  knife  and  fork,  and  the 
food  is  eaten  from  the  kettle  in  which  it  has  been 
cooked — an  easy  way  to  dispense  with  dishwashing. 

Doubtless  the  transitory  nature  of  this  “ home  ” 
accounts  in  part  for  its  meagre  equipment,  for  it 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  arrangement  is  never 
abiding.  It  is  a thing  born  of  passion,  and  it  en- 
dures only  until  passion  flickers,  a month,  a year, 
rarely  longer.  Then  the  unfortunate  girl,  her  cloth- 
ing in  tatters,  finds  herself  and  her  unwanted  child  in 
the  street,  penniless,  homeless  and  friendless. 


XI 


ENCARNACION 

WHEN  our  six-months’  furlough  in  the 
States  had  expired,  three-months-old  Lit- 
tle Daughter  was  very  ill,  so  the  Mis- 
sionary was  forced  to  return  to  South  America  with- 
out his  family.  I followed  him  a few  months  later, 
making  the  journey  with  not  only  the  two  children, 
but  also  a box  of  blooded  chickens  with  which  we 
hoped  to  improve  the  race  of  domestic  fowls  in 
Colombia. 

The  Missionary  had  expected  to  board  at  an  inn 
until  his  family  came.  As  soon  after  his  arrival  as 
possible  he  rented  a house  in  which  to  live  and  to  hold 
religious  services.  Finding  that  he  could  not  keep 
well  on  the  grease  and  garlic  of  the  inn,  he  secured 
a woman  to  cook  for  him  at  home.  To  cheat  the 
scandal-mongers,  he  employed  a tottering  old  crea- 
ture with  a face  that  stopped  little  short  of  hideous, 
besides  being  of  a dullness  extraordinary. 

Old  Encarnacion  knew  nothing  of  cooking,  her  one 
idea  being  to  put  everything  into  a pot  and  call  it  a 
“ salad.”  The  Missionary  lived  upon  “ salad  ” three 
times  a day  for  months.  Vegetables,  fruits,  grains, 
whatever  the  woman  found  in  the  plaza,  all  went  into 
the  salad,  were  scooped  into  a bowl  and  set  before 
the  Missionary  for  breakfast,  lunch  and  dinner. 
Neither  could  the  withered  old  creature  arrange  the 
table.  The  Missionary  brought  out  table-linen  and 
attempted  to  teach  her. 


82 


ENCARNACltfN 


83 


“ First  the  heavy  pad,  then  the  cloth,  evenly,  so ; 
then  the  napkin  here.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  Senor,  of  course,  I see  it  all.” 

At  dinner  he  found  the  table  as  he  had  left  it. 
That  night  when  he  went  to  bed  he  was  astonished  to 
see  the  table-pad  spread  neatly  and  precisely  over  his 
bed.  He  removed  it,  carried  it  to  the  dining-room 
and  again  arranged  the  table,  which  he  found  bare. 
The  next  morning  he  tried  to  impress  upon  Encarna- 
cion  that  she  was  to  leave  the  table  as  she  found  it. 

“ The  husher  belongs  here,  not  on  my  bed.  Are 
you  sure  that  you  understand?” 

“ Yes,  yes,  Senor,  of  course,  I see  it  all.” 

The  table  remained  set  during  the  day.  When  the 
Missionary  was  ready  to  retire  there  was  the  table- 
pad  again  staring  up  at  him,  stretched  carefully  over 
the  bedspread. 

He  tried  to  teach  her  to  make  a bed ; yet  during 
all  those  months  that  she  pottered  around  believing 
that  she  was  serving  her  senor  most  efficiently,  she 
never  could  learn  that  the  two  sheets  of  a bed  are 
placed  together.  The  Missionary  always  found  one 
sheet  folded  and  laid  across  the  foot  of  his  bed  with 
the  table-husher  on  top  of  it.  The  woman  was  not 
obstinate,  she  was  simply  incapable  of  learning. 

One  day,  only,  did  she  remain  after  my  arrival. 
She  was  caring  for  a sickly  little  grandson  who  was 
about  Small  Son’s  age.  His  weazened  face  and 
such  of  his  body  as  his  scrap  of  clothing  revealed, 
which  was  the  greater  part  of  it,  were  covered  with 
sores  discharging  in  a revolting  manner.  During 
that  first  day  he  played  with  my  son,  handling  the 
wonderful  playthings,  the  like  of  which  he  had  never 
dreamed,  in  all  his  starved  life.  Once  I saw  him  pat- 
ting the  baby’s  hand  as  she  lay  in  her  cradle,  and 


84 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


he  stooped  over  to  kiss  her  as  he  had  seen  her  small 
brother  do.  After  that,  although  I was  loath  to  do 
it,  I was  cruel  enough  to  shut  the  poor  little  thing 
in  the  solar  alone. 

At  dinner  time  Encarnacion  poured  all  the  baby’s 
milk,  which  I had  prepared  and  set  aside  to  cool,  into 
her  salad.  At  night  I told  the  Missionary  he  had 
more  patience  than  I ; he  had  managed  with  Encarna- 
cion for  three  months,  but  one  day  was  enough  for 
me.  In  the  morning  she  should  leave. 

“ You  would  never  turn  the  poor  old  creature 
away?  After  she  has  been  so  good  to  me,  too?” 

“ I fail  to  see  in  what  she  has  been  so  wonderfully 
good  to  you.  She  herself  has  been  telling  me  today 
that  she  almost  never  had  your  salad  ready  for  your 
dinner  when  you  wanted  it  at  six  o’clock,  and  that 
she  was  accustomed  to  set  it  on  the  table  and  leave 
it  for  you  to  eat  after  your  night  classes,  at  nine  or 
ten.  Think  of  your  going  without  food  from  eleven 
in  the  morning,  after  lunching  upon  her  wretched 
salad,  until  ten  o’clock  at  night,  and  then  eating  that 
stuff  cold!  No  wonder  you  have  been  ill  so  much! 
Why  didn’t  she  have  your  meals  on  time?  She  had 
nothing  else  to  do  in  the  whole  day  but  to  prepare 
them.” 

“ There  are  things  of  which  you  do  not  know. 
Let  me  tell  you  what  she  did  a few  weeks  ago.  You 
know  that  I go  each  week  to  the  city  of  Rio  Negro 
to  conduct  a Monday  evening  service  for  men.  One 
Tuesday  morning  just  before  daylight,  Encarnacion, 
who  was  alone  in  the  house,  was  awakened  by  the 
sound  of  bullets  accompanied  by  yelling.  A party 
of  young  men  had  been  enjoying  themselves  all  night 
in  some  grog-shop,  and  were  finishing  off  their 
carousal  by  shooting  up  this  house.  When  Encar- 


ENCARNACION 


85 


nacion  sensed  what  was  happening,  she  seized  her 
machete  and  rushed  out  to  defy  the  men,  calling 
upon  them  to  go  away  and  leave  her  Doctor’s  home 
alone.  There  she  stood,  clinging  fast  to  her  machete, 
with  the  bullets  flying  around  her,  trying  to  make 
herself  heard  and  understood  by  the  drunken  men. 
The  neighbors  told  me  of  it  when  I returned,  and  the 
woman  herself  for  days  could  talk  of  nothing  but 
her  fright.  Her  feeling  of  responsibility  for  the 
house  and  for  me  drove  that  poor  timid  old  creature 
to  an  action  as  brave  as  that.  She  is,  of  course, 
unable  to  learn  anything,  but  she  has  done  her  best 
and  I do  not  like  to  see  her  turned  off,  although  I 
realize  that  she  will  be  of  no  use  to  you,  who  need 
efficient  women.  What  will  she  do?  She  is  getting 
too  old  to  earn  her  living.” 

“What  did  she  do  before  she  came  here?  You 
may  pension  her  if  you  like,  but  not  here,  as  we 
cannot  make  a county  poor-house  of  our  home,  in 
addition  to  having  it  a public  school,  a church  and 
frequently  a hospital.  I shall  let  her  go  and  we 
must  manage  someway  until  we  find  someone  else.” 

“ I do  not  see  how  we  are  to  manage,”  he  answered 
dubiously. 

There  are  certain  things  in  the  work  of  a house- 
hold that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  do.  A gentle- 
man may  not  carry  home  the  marketing  in  a basket 
on  his  back ; there  is  a knack,  which  I have  never 
acquired,  in  grinding  food  between  two  stones ; there 
is  high  art  in  balancing  a kettle  of  soup  upon  shift- 
ing, crumbling  fagots  laid  upon  a brick  shelf 

We  took  the  first  woman  who  offered,  Beatriz. 
She  was  one  of  your  specialists,  carrying  a hauteur 
of  manner  that  closely  approached  insolence.  She 
entered  as  dining-room  girl,  nurse  girl  and  laundress ; 


86 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


under  protest  at  that,  declaring,  “ I cannot  do  so 
much  thing.” 

All  the  trunks  and  boxes,  in  spite  of  being  encased 
in  rubber,  were  wet  from  their  mountain  journey  on 
mule-back,  and  their  contents  were  developing  an 
alarming  state  of  mold.  When  I requested  the 
haughty  Beatriz  to  help  me  unpack  and  carry  the 
things  into  the  sunshine,  she  mumbled  and  grumbled ; 
it  was  not  so  specified  in  the  contract.  When  I 
demanded  that  she  do  the  marketing  and  help  a little 
in  the  kitchen  until  I could  secure  a cook,  she  de- 
parted with  an  impressive  dignity. 

The  Missionary  remarked,  “ It  is  just  what  you 
might  have  expected.  No  high-class  servant  can  be 
prevailed  upon  to  work  for  us,  and  our  simple  estab- 
lishment would  never  do  for  a girl  of  Beatriz’s 
training.” 

Each  succeeding  day  brought  one  or  more  women 
and  for  weeks  I tried  them  all.  Each  in  turn  proved 
hopeless,  and  I myself  became  more  and  more  so  with 
every  day  that  passed. 

Eventually  we  settled  down  to  Natalia  and  Elvira. 
The  former  had  never  cooked  and  she  was  not  big 
and  strong  for  carrying  marketing  the  distance  of 
a mile  from  plaza  to  our  house,  but  she  was  neat,' 
attentive  to  instruction  and  willing  to  do  her  best. 

I venture  to  say  that  no  other  kitchen  in  our  whole 
city  presented  so  shining  an  appearance  as  did  ours 
while  in  the  hands  of  Natalia.  The  new  pots  and 
pans  that  I had  brought  out  from  the  States  hung 
in  glittering  rows  on  the  clean,  whitewashed  wall, 
and  every  potato  paring  and  corn  husk  were  whisked 
out  of  sight,  until  the  place  showed  as  smiling  a face 
as  did  the  little  cook  herself.  Most  Colombian  cooks 
seem  to  flourish  best  in  a soiled  apron;  but  Natalia, 


ENCARNACION 


87 


with  no  greater  weekly  allowance  of  aprons  than  I 
had  always  granted  the  cook,  was  ever  fresh  and 
clean.  Her  brisk  pecky  little  ways  reminded  me  of 
a robin,  and  made  me  feel  superfluous  in  the  kitchen, 
so  I left  her  to  herself,  certain  that  she  needed  little 
supervision.  The  six  months  before  Natalia  broke 
under  the  strain  of  the  cook’s  work  in  the  school 
which  we  established,  I count  as  the  freest  from 
kitchen  worry  of  any  I have  experienced  in  Co- 
lombia. 

Elvira,  heavy  of  figure  yet  alert  of  mind,  had 
worked  during  her  childhood  in  a convent.  There 
she  had  learned  cleanliness  of  person,  precision  in 
caring  for  a room,  the  greatest  perfection  in  ironing 
that  I have  ever  seen,  and  a general  astuteness  in  all 
the  affairs  of  life.  I liked  her  work,  I sometimes 
enjoyed  her  lively  chatter,  but  I never  felt  that  I 
could  quite  trust  her.  Yet,  in  the  long  catalogue  of 
women  who  have  served  me,  none  has  ever  been  more 
thoughtful  in  sickness  or  more  respectful  in  bearing 
than  Elvira. 

The  Missionary  had  remarked,  “ We  cannot  ex- 
pect our  servants  to  be  self-respecting,  clean  and 
honest,  if  we  leave  them  to  exist  as  most  of  their 
class  do.  What  self-respect  can  a woman  have  who 
lies  on  the  floor  at  night,  and  sits  on  the  floor  by 
day  to  eat  her  food  from  a kettle  with  her  hands? 
I shall  buy  bedsteads  for  their  room  and  fix  up  a 
corner  of  the  corridor  with  a table  and  chairs  to 
serve  as  a dining-room.  Do  you  attend  to  making 
their  room  pleasant  and  to  securing  dishes  for  their 
use  on  the  table.  They  should  have  some  sort  of  a 
stand  with  a wash-basin  and  towels ; a mirror  and 
a cake  of  soap  will  go  a long  way  toward  giving  a 
woman  self-respect.” 


88 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


In  carrying  out  his  suggestions  I went  a step 
farther,  furnished  the  beds  with  sheets,  pillows  and 
pillow-slips,  and  arranged  a place  where  they  might 
hang  their  clothes  instead  of  dumping  them  on  the 
floor.  Thus  we  began  our  missionary  work  with  our 
prospective  servants  on  the  theory  that  cleanliness 
and  decency  may  lead  to  godliness.  Many  of  our 
women  were  appreciative  of  what  we  had  attempted 
to  do  for  them  and  made  an  effort  to  live  up  to  what 
was  expected  of  them.  Some  there  were  who  declared 
that  they  had  never  sat  in  a chair  and  would  not 
know  how  to  do  it ; that  they  could  not  manage  a 
knife  and  fork  and  preferred  not  to  bother  with 
them;  that  soap  chapped  the  skin  and  was  injurious; 
that  they  had  never  slept  in  a bed  and  were  afraid 
of  rolling  out  if  they  tried  it.  But  these  were  few 
in  number,  most  Colombians  being  as  quick  and  as 
eager  as  “ Yankees  ” in  adapting  themselves  to  bet- 
ter conditions. 


XII 


LUIS 

WE  cannot  purchase  good  milk  in  the  market- 
place. It  is  brought  long  distances  in 
skins,  poured  into  uncovered  mud-kettles 
which  are  held  between  the  knees  of  sweating  women 
who  sit  on  the  cobblestones  of  the  unsprinkled  plaza. 
It  is  full  of  the  infected  dust  trod  by  thousands  of 
diseased  feet,  it  sometimes  curdles  when  it  is  boiled — 
yet  boiled  it  must  be — so  we  dare  not  give  it  to  the 
children. 

We  bought  a cow  and  a calf.  Introducing  them 
through  the  front  and  only  door  of  our  residence, 
we  assigned  them  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  house;  there 
are  no  barns  in  Colombia.  Obviously  we  could  not 
allow  our  gentle  beasts  to  pass  the  days  as  well  as 
the  nights  under  our  roof,  yet  Natalia  had  neither 
time  nor  strength  to  lead  them  for  two  miles  to 
corral  each  day. 

Water  in  our  city  in  hot  country  is  a serious 
problem.  All  of  it,  for  whatever  purpose  used,  is 
brought  for  some  distance  on  the  backs  of  burros  or 
of  women.  The  men  who  drive  the  burros  are  of  the 
most  worthless  class  in  Colombia ; their  promises 
amount  to  nothing.  “ Yes,  Senor,  I most  certainly 
will  bring  your  honorable  self  always  those  eight 
cargoes  of  water  all  those  days.  Of  course  I do  it.” 
And  of  course  he  does  not  do  it.  We  go  to  bed 
with  no  water  in  the  house.  We  get  up  with  no 

89 


90 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


water  in  the  house;  not  a drop  for  baths,  to  make 
the  coffee,  to  wash  the  dishes.  The  Missionary  goes 
to  the  street  and  accosts  every  driver  of  water- 
donkeys  that  he  sees. 

“ No,  Senor,  I cannot  allow  you  this  water.  It 
is  a contract.” 

“ No,  Senor,  it  is  not  that  I am  a public  water- 
carrier.  This  is  for  a house  particular ; I am  the  boy 
of  Don  Alejandro.” 

Disgusted,  wearied,  having  dissipated  the  fore- 
noon, the  Missionary,  by  paying  twice  its  worth, 
secures  two  cargoes  of  water  in  time  for  the  cook 
to  begin  the  preparation  of  the  eleven-o’clock  break- 
fast. The  work  of  the  household,  as  well  as  that  of 
the  Missionary,  has  stood  still  awaiting  the  water. 

We  decided  that  it  would  be  economy  to  bring  our 
own  water.  Thus  we  added  a burro  to  our  posses- 
sions and  allotted  him  a corner  of  the  cow’s  sleeping 
apartment.  As  a consequence  of  these  purchases  we 
acquired  a man. 

Luis  came  to  us  frankly  stating  that  he  was  just 
from  prison  where  he  had  served  a long  term.  He 
offered  to  do  whatever  was  assigned  him  for  a mere 
pittance — his  board,  if  we  would  give  him  that 
much ; only  allow  him  a chance  to  commence  again. 
We  did  not  ask  him  his  crime  and  he  did  not  confess 
it,  so  to  this  day  we  do  not  know  for  what  he  was 
apprehended.  Tall,  erect,  agile,  his  was  an  unusual 
figure  for  a man  of  his  class.  His  crafty  face,  with 
the  shifting  eyes,  bore  a long  scar  across  one  cheek 
and  into  one  eye.  He  always  wore  a large  hat  pulled 
low  over  his  face.  Whatever  his  failings  there  was 
one  thing  about  him  that  atoned  for  much  in  our 
eyes ; he  loved  the  Missionary  and  his  family.  Espe- 
cially was  he  devoted  to  Small  Son.  Could  the 


LUIS 


91 


Senorito  accompany  him  on  this  or  that  errand? 
Would  I allow  him  a few  minutes  in  which  to  whittle 
out  a plaything  for  the  Senorito? 

Who  will  ever  know  what  strange  life  lay  back  of 
such  a character  as  Luis’?  He  had  served  in  the 
commissariat  of  the  army ; he  had  seen  the  most  of 
Colombia,  having  wandered  from  city  to  city;  he  had 
worked  at  almost  everything,  and  his  knowledge  of 
several  of  the  trades  was  not  inconsiderable, — this 
in  a land  where  few  men  of  his  class  know  any  trade 
at  all.  He  mended  our  shoes  as  well  as  our  chairs, 
he  did  our  marketing  and  prescribed  us  remedies,  he 
waited  upon  table  and  painted  our  house,  he  swept 
our  patios  and  cooked  our  meals,  he  cleaned  our 
blackboards  and  read  our  books  ; and  everything  that 
he  did  was  well  done.  Through  all  his  work  he  car- 
ried an  unapproachable  dignity  that  earned  him  a 
bad  name  with  his  class.  Moody,  silent,  with  fits  of 
unreasoning  anger  which  blazed  into  mad  fury,  he 
was  called  “ difficult  ” and  none  liked  him.  How- 
ever, wTe  came  to  repose  confidence  in  him  and  to 
think  that  wre  could  not  keep  house  without  Luis  to 
fill  every  niche  and  gap. 

A strange  man  and  stranger  in  nothing  than  in 
the  romance  of  his  life, — for  I verily  believe  that  it 
was  the  romance  of  his  life;  he  loved  Elvira. 

Nothing  that  she  did  suited  him.  With  a leering 
sneer  he  would  make  the  most  biting  remarks  about 
her  vanity,  the  while  he  watched  her  profusely  daub- 
ing her  brown  skin  with  powdered  starch ; he  was 
critical  of  every  new  ribbon  or  new  waist ; he  bitterly 
ridiculed  her  use  of  tooth-brush  and  nail-file;  he  dis- 
agreed with  whatever  she  said,  and  mocked  her  every 
utterance ; he  found  fault  with  her  outgoings  and  her 
incomings,  with  her  care  of  the  children,  her  sweep- 


92 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


ing.  Yet  he  loved  her;  his  eyes  followed  her  every 
movement  and  he  never  tired  of  praising  her  skill  in 
ironing,  her  quick  repartee,  her  satin  skin.  But 
never  in  her  presence, — oh,  no ! His  words  of  admi- 
ration were  reserved  for  our  ears  alone.  He  was 
fiercely  jealous  of  her.  Elvira  was  an  attractive  girl 
although  not  pretty.  A pleasing  air  of  crisp  neat- 
ness and  of  conscious  ability  pervaded  her,  so  that 
when  she  carried  out  Little  Daughter  for  her  airing 
the  senoras  frequently  asked  me  where  I had  secured 
so  unusual  a servant. 

I had  never  heard  of,  or  even  dreamed  of,  anything 
like  the  way  Elvira  and  Luis  quarreled.  Again  and 
again  did  the  Missionary  request  that  I dismiss 
Elvira  so  that  Luis  would  behave  himself.  How  could 
I bring  myself  to  dismiss  a woman  who  was  neat? 
Yet  how  could  we  manage  without  Luis? 

“ It  would  cost  me  more  to  get  a man  to  paint  the 
house  than  Luis’  wages  amount  to  in  a year.  Where 
would  we  ever  find  another  man  who  would  go  for 
medicines  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  or  help  out  in 
the  kitchen  at  times?  ” 

Thus  argued  the  Missionary,  and  both  servants 
stayed  on,  quarreling  worse  and  worse  every  day  in 
spite  of  our  protestations. 

One  morning,  just  at  the  rising  hour,  Luis  burst 
into  our  room  in  a blazing  passion.  He  was  shirt- 
less but  he  held  in  his  hand  and  shook  in  our  faces 
a few  tatters  of  the  garment  he  should  have  been 
wearing. 

“ Look  you  ! The  work  of  Elvira  ! Elvira ! ” he 
screamed.  “ She  tears  the  shirt  from  the  back  of 
me.  The  tigress  ! ” 

“ And  what  did  you  do,  Luis  ? ” calmly  asked  the 
Missionary. 


LUIS 


93 


Spanish,  fast  and  furious,  poured  from  his 
lips,  his  face  distorted  by  frenzy.  He  had  thrown 
away  her  tooth-brush,  and  kicked  over  her  wash- 
basin, grinding  her  scented  soap  into  the  brick  floor 
with  his  heel. 

“ The  things  of  senoras  in  the  hands  of  a servant ! 
Bah ! ” 

The  Missionary,  with  his  usual  tact,  despatched 
the  man  upon  an  errand  that  kept  him  in  the  country 
all  day,  and  remarked  to  me: 

“ The  explanation  of  all  this  lies  in  the  occur- 
rences of  last  evening.  While  I was  conducting  the 
men’s  meeting,  I saw  Elvira  in  the  street  walking 
up  and  down  with  the  son  of  the  woman  who  keeps 
the  tienda  on  the  corner.  Luis  believes  that  it  is 
because  Elvira  ‘ apes  the  senoras,’  as  he  calls  it, 
that  she  is  noticed  by  better  men  than  he  is.  Luis 
is  jealous.  You  must  keep  Elvira  off  the  street 
evenings.” 


XIII 


VISITS 

SHORTLY  after  my  return  from  the  States  I 
was  again  ill,  five  weeks  in  “ straight  bed.” 
Luis  and  Elvira  were  thus  left  very  much  to 
their  own  devices.  Fortunately  we  still  had  reliable 
little  Natalia  in  the  kitchen.  How  wise  was  the  great 
dramatist  when  he  reminded  us  through  the  lips  of 
Anthony  that  it  is  the  evil  men  do  that  lives  after 
them!  Natalia  was  too  good  to  have  tales  told  of 
her.  When  she  left  us  she  entered  a German  family 
as  nurse  girl  to  a plump  little  fraulein,  and  there 
she  is  still,  grown  so  corpulent  with  her  easy  life  that 
her  twinkling  little  eyes  constantly  recede  more  and 
more  from  view. 

Among  those  who  came  regularly  to  inquire  after 
me  was  Barbara,  bearing  upon  her  breast  a sickly 
little  scrap  of  mankind,  her  son.  The  woman  was 
ragged  and  filthy  to  a degree  and  she  brazenly 
begged  clothing  for  herself  and  the  child. 

“Are  you  in  service  now,  Barbara?”  I asked. 

“ The  Senora  Mauda  understands  so  little ! How 
is  it  that  I can  be  in  service  with  my  little  baby? 
And  who  is  the  senora  that  emploj^s  me  now?  But 
certainly  no  one.” 

“ How  do  you  live?  ” 

“ Of  course,  as  all  the  mothers  carrying  new  babies 
live.  On  the  back  I carry  the  wood  and  hay,  the 
bananas,  the  yuca.  But  I am  the  very  most  tired 

94 


VISITS 


95 


and  always  with  a hunger  very  great,  and  the  little 
one  does  not  continue  well.  He  thinks  in  dying,  it 
seems  to  me.  He  is  all  that  I have;  I cannot  con- 
form myself  to  his  dying.” 

“ If  you  would  bathe  him  every  day,  Barbara, 
head  and  all,  and  try  to  keep  the  things  around  him 
clean  he  would  grow  stronger.  Try,  too,  not  to 
have  him  done  up  so  tightly  in  this  dirty  woolen 
shawl ; see,  it  has  irritated  his  skin  until  it  bleeds ! ” 
“And  how  is  it  that  I avoid  that,  my  Senora? 
That  shawl  is  all  that  I have  with  which  to  strap 
him  to  my  breast  when  I carry  that  cargo  on  my 
back.” 

“ It  is  a pity  that  you  have  to  carry  him  all  day 
in  the  heat,  strapped  to  your  perspiring  body.  He 
is  overheated  all  the  time,  and  I suppose  that  you 
keep  even  his  head  covered  because  of  the  fierceness 
of  the  sun’s  rays.  Poor  little  thing,  how  he  suffers ! 
But  it  will  help  him  so  much  if  you  will  bathe  him 
every  day ; I would  show  you  how  to  do  it  were  I 
able  to  sit  up.  Commence  with  his  head,  soap  it 
well. — see,  it  is  all  festering  now!” 

“ But,  Senora  Mauda,  never  would  I put  water  on 
a baby’s  head ; with  that  he  comes  out  a fool.” 

“ Oh,  Barbara,  that  is  such  a silly  notion ! There 
is  no  truth  in  it  at  all.” 

“ All  the  world  believes  that  thing.” 

“ Yes,  all  your  world  does  believe  it,  I admit.  And 
see  how  the  babies  suffer  because  of  it!  Look  at 
those  children  of  mine;  are  they  fools?  Have  they 
not  good  hair?  ” 

“The  Little  White  Angel”  (which  was  what  all 
the  servants  called  Little  Daughter)  “ has  the  hair 
most  beautiful  in  the  world.  It  appears  pure  new 
silk.” 


96 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ Yes,  it  is  like  raw  silk  and  her  head  has  always 
been  washed  with  soap.  So  has  Small  Son’s  and  he 
is  no  fool.  Have  you  any  place  where  you  can 
bathe  your  child?” 

“ And  what  place  could  I have?  ” 

“ Where  do  you  stay  nights  ? ” 

“ I sleep  on  the  earth  in  a little  corner  of  the  hut 
of  one  little  old  woman  who  lets  me,  towards  there,” 
and  she  pointed  to  the  south. 

“ You  may  bathe  your  baby  here  now,  if  you  like, 
and  Elvira  shall  help  you  and  show  you  how  to 
do  it.” 

But  Elvira  would  not.  Of  what  was  the  Senora 
Mauda  thinking  to  let  such  creatures  in  the  chil- 
dren’s room,  using  their  bath  basin? 

“ Bring  the  servants’  wash-basin  then.  This 
child’s  wailing  would  cease  if  it  were  bathed,  pow- 
dered well  and  wrapped  in  a cool  soft  cloth.” 

“ No  time  have  I to  bathe  that  brat.  I have 
much  that  I do  now.  Surely  just  for  the  reason  that 
I am  the  Senora  Mauda’s  servant  she  has  not  the 
right  to  put  me  to  bathe  such  a creature.  I do  not 
do  it.” 

There  was  Indian  blood  in  Elvira ; when  she 
wouldn’t,  she  wouldn’t.  The  best  that  I could  do  was 
to  have  Small  Son  bring  me  some  of  my  little  girl’s 
things  and  a box  of  powdered  starch  with  soap  and 
towel.  These  I presented  to  Barbara  and  she  prom- 
ised that  somehow  she  would  manage  to  bathe  the 
child,  head  and  all,  that  very  day.  I had  doubts 
about  her  keeping  her  promise,  especially  as  to  the 
head,  but  it  appeared  that  the  woman  was  ready 
to  try  anything  that  would  save  her  child’s  life. 

A week  later  she  returned  very  much  dressed  up 
in  one  of  my  white  waists,  into  which  she  had  every- 


VISITS 


97 


where  sewed  strips  of  yellowish  bagging  to  make  the 
garment  some  six  sizes  larger  than  it  was  originally, 
so  that  she  could  stuff  herself  into  it.  The  puny 
baby  was  so  transformed  that  I scarcely  recognized 
him.  Reasonably  clean,  his  head  better,  he  hung, 
quietly  asleep,  loosely  suspended  from  his  mother’s 
breast  by  the  bath- towel.  Barbara  glowed  like  a 
poppy  over  the  improvement  in  her  child.  Good 
news  had  I for  her.  The  Missionary  had  secured  her 
a place  in  the  little  cigarette  factory  where,  if  she 
proved  apt  at  the  work,  she  might  earn  enough  to 
keep  herself  and  child  alive. 

“ The  only  difficulty  is  that  the  hours  are  very 
long,  and  you  will  have  to  leave  the  baby  alone  all 
day  on  the  damp  ground  in  that  dark  hole  of  a hut, 
for  of  course  you  cannot  take  him  with  you.” 

“ If  I should  be  able  to  pay  even  so  few  pesos  I 
leave  him  with  one  little  woman  that  I know.  She 
is  now  the  woman  of  a gentleman;  her  lie  has  estab- 
lished in  a little  house,  even  with  a servant.  Once 
was  she  a friend  of  mine.  Now  of  a certainty  she 
is  very  proud,  but  for  a little  money  I believe  that 
she  puts  my  baby,  clean  and  beautiful  like  he  is, 
to  lie  by  the  side  of  hers.  But  it  is  too  good  that 
the  Doctor  and  the  Senora  Mauda  are  with  me,  and 
I merit  that  thing  not  at  all.” 

“ But  you  are  going  to  deserve  it,  Barbara.  You 
will  raise  up  your  son  to  be  clean  and  strong.  You 
must  bring  him  to  see  me  again  soon.” 

Quavering  old  Encarnacion  was  also  among  my 
visitors  during  those  weeks  of  sickness.  She  brought 
the  scrawny  little  grandson  with  her. 

Small  Son  takes  delight  in  giving  away  his  pos- 
sessions. It  has  always  been  difficult  to  prevent  his 
stripping  himself  of  playthings  and  clothing,  so 


98 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


eager  is  he  to  share  with  less  fortunate  children. 
One  day  when  he  was  three  years  old  I caught  him 
handing  out  through  the  bars  of  the  window  a pair 
of  his  prettiest  shoes  to  a group  of  open-mouthed 
children,  every  one  of  whom  was  stark  naked.  Now 
that  he  was  older  he  kept  a box  into  which  went 
everything  that,  after  consultation  with  me,  was  con- 
sidered appropriate  to  be  given  away.  From  the  box 
he  chose  things  for  the  little  Juanito  while  the  old 
woman  sat  hugging  her  hands  under  her  shawl  and 
talking  to  me. 

She  rambled  on,  muttering  and  sputtering,  so  that 
I scarcely  understood  a word  of  what  she  was  trying 
to  say.  After  half  an  hour  of  this  strain,  when  I 
was  hoping  that  she  would  go,  since  Elvira  had 
already  carried  out  my  instructions  and  set  down 
on  the  floor  at  the  woman’s  side  a tiny  basket  of  food 
for  her  to  carry  home  with  her,  she  suddenly  drew 
back  the  corner  of  her  old  shawl  and  disclosed  a live 
hen.  A pert  little  black  hen  was  it,  that  blinked  and 
squawked  as  soon  as  the  light  struck  it.  Encarna- 
cion  tucked  it  more  snugly  under  her  arm  as  I stared 
at  it  in  astonishment. 

“ Look  at  that  little  hen  mine,”  she  said. 

“ Yes,  I am  looking  at  it.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  with  it?  ” 

“No  rooster  have  I;  this  hen  only.  But  I wish 
to  raise  the  chickens,  for  that  I bring  here  the  hen. 
I put  her  with  those  hens  of  the  Doctor.  Her  eggs 
I carry  home  and  when  I have  enough  I raise  those 
chickens.” 

The  wonder  of  it ; that  Encarnacion  could  think 
all  that  out  so  nicely ! I laughed  at  the  astuteness 
of  the  woman  who  had  never  learned  the  use  of  a 
table-pad. 


VISITS 


99 


“ That  seems  to  me  a very  good  plan,  Encarnacion. 
The  only  question  is,  how  are  you  going  to  tell  your 
egg  from  the  other  eggs?  ” 

“ That  egg  I know.  It  is  a particular  egg.” 

“ Well,  if  there  is  any  egg  at  all  it  will  probably 
be  yours  as  our  fancy  hens  are  not  laying.  They 
object  either  to  the  heat  or  to  living  on  bran;  yet 
corn  is  so  high  we  cannot  buy  it  and  oats  are 
unheard  of  in  this  country.” 

“ Those  oats,  what  might  they  be?  ” 

“ Oh,  they  are  a grain  not  raised  here.  Have  you 
seen  our  fowls  lately?  Elvira  has  named  them. 
That  tall  lanky  black  rooster  she  calls  John-and-a- 
half.  You  know  John-and-a-half,  of  course ; Don 
Senor  John  Cortes,  so  exceedingly  tall  and  narrow 
that  the  whole  town  knows  him  as  John-and-a-half? 
Elvira  says  that  our  black  rooster  of  the  long  legs 
reminds  her  of  Don  Cortes,  so  the  whole  school  calls 
him  John-and-a-half.” 

My  pleasantries  were  all  wasted  on  Encarna- 
cion. She  stared  dully  at  me,  comprehending 
nothing. 

“ Take  your  hen  to  the  solar  and  put  her  with  the 
others.  Son,  bring  Juanito  to  his  grandmother  now; 
they  are  going  home.” 

Thus  was  I rid  of  them. 

Each  day  thereafter  the  old  woman  returned  to 
the  house  for  the  egg  and  if  there  was  any  egg  to 
be  found  in  the  solar  it  was  given  to  her.  This  went 
on  for  a long  time  until  one  day  Luis  stood  respect- 
fully before  me  and  asked  how  much  longer  it  was 
to  continue.  For  a week  I had  been  giving  classes 
to  the  more  advanced  of  our  high  school  boys,  since 
there  was  no  one  else  to  do  it,  except  the  Missionary, 
already  overburdened.  But  I was  greatly  hampered 


100 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


by  an  over-powering  weakness  that  caused  me  to 
hang  to  the  furniture  and  desks  for  support. 

“ Oh,  Luis,”  I answered.  “ I had  forgotten  the 
existence  of  the  old  woman  and  her  egg.  Is  her 
hen  still  laying?  ” 

“ Most  certainly  not.  It  has  never  laid.  Could 
a thing  so  small  lay  an  egg?  It  is  not  of  the  bigness 
of  a decent  bird.” 

“ But  it  is  no  bother  to  you?  You  do  not  object 
to  keeping  it  here?  The  poor  creature  probably 
cannot  buy  anything  to  feed  it.” 

What  a disagreeable,  sinister  smile  Luis  had ! It 
impressed  me  most  unfavorably. 

“ My  Senora  Mauda  certainly  does  that  which 
she  likes  and  it  is  always  the  best.  But  to  me  it 
appears  not  good  that  the  only  one  fresh  egg  we 
have  that  old  woman  carries  off'  each  day.  Senora 
Mauda  needs  that  egg  herself.  Is  it  not  that  she  is 
of  a paleness  that  hurts  me  much?  ” 

“ Thank  you,  Luis,”  I breathed,  most  humbly. 
“ When  the  woman  comes  today  you  may  tell  her 
to  take  her  hen  away.  It  is  time  she  was  raising 
those  chickens.” 


XIV 


ELVIRA  AND  LUIS 

WHEN  it  pleased  them  to  do  so,  Elvira  and 
Luis  could  conplot  together  in  a won- 
drous fashion. 

A family  whom  we  had  tried  to  interest  in  Bible 
teachings  commenced  to  attend  our  services,  and  to 
show  their  friendliness  towards  us  they  sent  us  a 
macaw.  The  bird  was  of  a splendor  and  gaudiness 
that  appealed  to  Small  Son,  and  his  delight  knew 
no  bounds,  but  the  pleasure  derived  from  the  gift 
was  all  his;  the  rest  of  us  did  not  want  a macaw. 
We  could  have  possessed  several  had  we  cared  for 
them,  as  they  are  always  easy  to  acquire,  but  they 
are  dirty  creatures,  noisy  and  mischievous.  We 
already  had  quite  enough  noise  and  mischief  in  the 
house  and  to  spare,  crowded  as  we  were  between  four 
walls,  jumbled  together  with  schoolboys,  servants 
and  children. 

Elvira  shared  our  disgust  at  the  introduction  of 
the  macaw  into  the  family  and,  unlike  us,  she  ex- 
pressed her  disapproval  in  loud  and  vigorous  terms. 
The  Missionary  and  I dared  do  no  more  than  smile 
sadly  and  remark  upon  what  a gorgeous  bird  it 
was.  Had  we  even  looked  as  though  we  did  not 
greatly  appreciate  the  gift,  the  donors  would  have 
been  immediately  apprised  of  the  fact,  distorted  by 
exaggerations,  and  the  family  would  never  more  have 
appeared  at  church.  No  one  depends  upon  the  Bell 
telephone  system  for  the  propagation  of  news  in  our 

101 


102 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


city.  We  have  a much  more  efficient  system  of  our 
own,  without  the  bother  of  using  receivers.  Appar- 
ently the  air  is  electric  and  carries  wireless  messages 
impromptu. 

One  day  did  the  macaw  remain  with  us.  The  next 
morning  when  Small  Son  hurried  to  the  kitchen  to 
find  his  pet,  who,  by  the  way,  was  so  cross  and 
“ angry  ” that  the  child  did  not  dare  approach  it 
closely,  the  bird  had  flown.  Just  how  he  had  flown 
with  his  heavy  body  and  clipped  wings  was  a wonder 
to  all  of  us.  Small  Son’s  laments  and  sobs  made 
the  whole  household  uncomfortable.  Elvira’s  sym- 
pathy with  the  child  was  perfect ; she  tried  in  every 
way  to  console  him  and  when  she  found  there  was 
no  comforting  him  except  by  securing  the  bird,  she 
herself  offered  to  go  to  the  neighboring  houses  to 
ask  if  by  any  chance  the  lazy  macaw  had  climbed 
upon  our  roof  and  descended  into  the  wrong  patio. 
This  is  a trick  easy  for  cat  or  fowl  to  perform  as 
the  roofs  on  a whole  block  are  joined  together  at 
all  sorts  of  angles.  Elvira’s  morning  work  awaited 
her,  so  I said  that  Luis  should  be  sent  on  the  tour 
of  investigation.  He  went,  most  reluctantly.  An 
hour  later  he  returned,  reporting  that  he  had  failed 
in  the  quest ; no  such  bird  had  been  seen  anywhere. 

What  a mysterious  disappearance  of  a creature 
wffiose  powers  of  locomotion  were  not  much  superior 
to  those  of  a tortoise!  From  the  first  the  affair  had 
an  element  of  mystery  about  it,  but  we  never  sus- 
pected the  truth. 

The  next  Sabbath  the  new  family  did  not  appear 
at  any  of  the  services,  which  fact  we  considered  very 
strange.  Perhaps  they  thought  that  we  had  not 
been  to  a sufficient  degree  grateful  for  the  gift  of 
the  macaw. 


ELVIRA  AND  LUIS 


103 


On  Monday  I called  at  their  home  and  was 
greeted  by  the  rasping  clamor  of  a macaw  squatting 
humped  over  in  the  court.  The  bird  kept  up  its 
irritating  gabble  and,  seated  in  the  parlor  where  I 
could  stare  out  at  it,  I remarked : 

“ That  macaw  is  much  like  the  one  you  so  kindly 
presented  to  us.  Unfortunately  ours  would  not  stay 
with  us ; he  went  off  somewhere  the  second  day  and 
left  Small  Son  in  great  grief.  Luis  searched  for  him 
but  he  could  not  be  found.” 

My  hostess  gazed  steadily  at  me  with  expression- 
less face,  but  made  no  reply.  I terminated  my  visit 
without  having  received  any  hint  whatever  as  to  the 
reason  why  none  of  the  family  had  attended  church 
the  day  before.  They  never  came  again. 

Months  afterward  we  learned  that  Elvira  had 
taken  the  macaw  in  her  arms  after  dark  and  had 
carried  him  back  to  the  donors,  stating  that  the 
Doctor  and  Senora  Mauda  did  not  want  the  bird 
and  had  sent  it  back.  Luis  knew  this,  and  when  I 
sent  him  to  hunt  the  macaw  he  went  to  the  tienda, 
stayed  an  hour,  and  returned  to  report  that  he  could 
not  find  it. 

What  must  have  been  that  family’s  opinion 
of  us? 

A colorless  old  woman,  Marfa  of  the  Sorrows  by 
name,  was  slopping  around  in  my  kitchen,  posing  as 
cook,  when  Elvira,  who  was  endowed  with  a lively 
mind,  decided  that  she  was  chicken  hungry.  Forth- 
with at  ten  o’clock  one  night,  when  the  household  was 
slumbering  peacefully,  she  repaired  to  the  solar  and, 
before  it  could  utter  one  protesting  squawk,  wrung 
the  neck  of  one  of  our  hens.  Presently  the  whole 
fowl,  head,  feet  and  all,  was  bubbling  merrily  in  the 
pot. 


104- 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


When  we  have  a fowl  to  eat  I insist  upon  seeing 
it  before  it  goes  into  the  kettle.  Otherwise  it  appears 
before  us  at  table  with  its  body  perfectly  entire, 
down  to  the  eyes  and  toe-nails.  Even  if  the  finicky 
foreign  senora  refuses  to  eat  the  head  and  feet  of 
a chicken  they  are  not  therefore  wasted;  they  are 
boiled  apart  and  enjoyed  by  the  servants  who  con- 
sider them  the  best  part  of  the  meal. 

Luis,  who  had  charge  of  the  heavy  iron  key  to  the 
door,  was  sent  by  Elvira  to  purchase  macaroni, 
garlic,  and  I know  not  what,  at  the  corner  tienda, 
which  is  grocery-store,  breadshop  and  saloon  in  one, 
and  is  kept  open  most  of  the  night. 

I can  well  believe  it  was  a most  savory  stew  that 
Elvira  concocted.  No  sound  or  smell  of  all  this  pene- 
trated the  inner  court  where  we  slept.  In  the 
“ Oasis,”  where  we  wTere  then  living,  the  kitchen  is 
so  far  from  the  rest  of  the  house  that  nothing  that 
occurred  in  it,  short  of  an  earthquake,  could  be 
heard  in  the  other  rooms. 

When  on  the  stroke  of  midnight  the  feast  was 
ready,  Elvira  and  Marla  of  the  Sorrows  called  Luis 
to  partake.  But,  although  it  must  have  sorely 
tempted  him,  the  man  refused  to  so  much  as  taste 
the  stew. 

“ And  this  for  why?  ” asked  Elvira. 

“ I do  not  rob  from  the  Doctor.  Also  I do  not 
eat  that  which  is  robbed  from  him.” 

Elvira  grinned  at  this. 

“ This  is  not  to  rob.  Is  it  not  that  you  tend 
those  chickens  and  even  I put  them  water  all  those 
days?  Most  certainly  this  is  but  pay  for  the  work 
of  us.” 

“ The  Senora  pays  me  for  my  work.  I have  not 
to  rob  from  her  for  that  pay.” 


ELVIRA  AND  LUIS 


105 


“ You  yourself  was  it  that  helped  me  get  the  fowl 
ready.” 

“ That  certainly  I did  not  do.” 

“ You  yourself  was  it  that  bought  me  all  the  things 
at  the  tienda,  but  now.” 

“ That,  yes,  is  different.  It  is  the  business  of  me 
to  buy  all  that  which  is  needed  here.” 

“ And  at  ten  o’clock  at  night?  ” mocked  Elvira. 

“ And  at  ten  o’clock  at  night  if  you  send  me  to 
do  it.  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Doctor’s 
chicken.” 

No  amount  of  persuasion  could  induce  him  to 
taste  of  the  fowl.  He  stood  at  one  side  leaning 
against  the  wall,  cigarette  in  mouth,  until  the  two 
women  had  gorged  to  their  limit  and  had  hidden 
under  their  beds  what  they  could  not  eat. 

Luis  never  mentioned  this  occurrence  to  any  of 
us.  The  wireless  telephone  communicated  it  to  me 
the  next  day,  but  none  of  the  servants  ever  knew  that 
I found  it  out.  I often  wondered  about  the  hap- 
penings which  the  wireless  may  have  neglected  to 
bring  me. 

One  Sabbath  morning,  six  months  of  scorching 
weather  was  broken  by  a pounding,  thudding  deluge 
of  rain.  All  day  long  did  the  relenting  heavens 
drench  the  parched,  shrivelled  earth  until  the  streets 
became  foaming  rivers  and  the  whole  city  seemed 
afloat.  Gales  of  driving  wind  thrust  sheets  of  water 
into  the  faces  of  those  who  dared  challenge  nature 
in  her  wildest  mood  by  attempting  to  leave  shelter. 
Six  months  of  evaporation  descended  in  as  many 
hours. 

Our  head-teacher  and  his  young  daughter  lived 
across  the  treeless  little  park  in  front  of  our  house 
and  took  their  meals  with  us.  It  was  impossible 


106 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


for  them  to  venture  into  the  tempest  so  when  the 
eleven-o’clock  breakfast  was  ready  to  be  served  1 
decreed  that  someone  should  carry  their  food  to 
them.  Elvira  offered  to  go.  She  repaired  to  her 
room  and  reappeared  with  her  ample  skirts  tucked 
above  her  knees,  revealing  a surprising  extent  of 
bare  brown  limb. 

As  I was  arranging  the  Ireguis’  breakfast  in  a 
pail,  Luis  entered  the  room.  He  stared  fixedly  at 
Elvira,  then  turned  to  me  and  asked : 

“ The  Senora  Mauda  sends  Elvira  to  the  street 
today?  ” 

“ She  has  offered  to  take  the  breakfast  to  the 
Ireguis.” 

“ Does  not  the  Senora  Mauda  see  plainly  that  this 
is  not  a day  that  a woman  should  go  to  the  street? 
The  thing  is  not  possible  for  her.” 

“ Oh,  well,  Luis,  I do  not  care  who  takes  the 
breakfast  to  Senor  Iregui  so  he  gets  it.  The  one 
who  goes  will  have  to  use  the  utmost  caution  to 
keep  on  his  feet  in  crossing  the  street  for  the  force 
and  depth  of  the  water  is  considerable.  Perhaps  it 
is  safer  for  you  to  go  since  you  are  tall  and  can 
wade  through  better  than  Elvira.” 

Thus  did  he  attempt  to  shield  Elvira. 

The  man  was  despatched  and  the  woman  went  on 
with  the  serving  of  the  meal,  when  suddenly  a section 
of  the  mud  wall  between  the  court  and  the  solar 
was  washed  into  the  house.  Instantly  a stream  of 
red  water,  bearing  mud,  sticks,  stones,  poured  into 
the  court,  through  the  corridor,  and  into  the  dining- 
room before  we  could  make  our  escape. 

In  the  Andes  mountains  nothing  is  level  and  all 
cities  appear  to  roll  and  tumble  about  the  hills  in  a 
most  distracting  fashion.  The  narrow  streets  of 


ELVIRA  AND  LUIS 


107 


these  cities  are  gouged  out  by  the  torrents  of  water 
that  rush  through  them  when  it  rains.  The  fronts 
of  the  adobe  houses,  framing  the  streets,  are  on  a 
level  with  the  sidewalk,  which  would  cause  the  front 
rooms  to  be  much  lower  than  the  rest  of  the  build- 
ing were  it  not  that  dirt  is  excavated  for  the  rear 
rooms.  Cellars  are  unknown ; the  floors  are  made 
of  soft  bricks  a foot  square  laid  directly  upon  the 
ground.  If  there  be  a little  wall-enclosed  back-yard, 
called  a solar,  it  is  almost  certain  to  lie  from  two 
to  twenty  feet  higher  than  the  level  of  the  house. 

In  the  Oasis,  as  our  rented  house  was  called,  the 
solar  was  quite  ten  feet  higher  than  the  rooms.  The 
newly  formed  lake  in  the  solar,  unable  to  empty 
itself  by  the  regular  channel  provided  for  water,  had 
undermined  the  wall  and  was  pouring  into  the  house. 

The  Missionary,  Luis  and  Elvira,  each  in  as 
abbreviated  clothing  as  possible,  struggled  for  hours 
to  thwart  the  malicious  purpose  of  the  impromptu 
lake  while  the  children  and  I huddled  on  the  beds 
and  watched  them.  Fortunately  it  was  vacation 
time  and  there  were  few  boys  in  the  house. 

Nothing  could  have  excelled  the  amicability  with 
which  our  two  servants  worked  together.  They  were 
like  two  doves  in  their  agreement  of  purpose. 

An  hour  before  sunset  the  deluge  ceased,  as 
abruptly  as  it  had  commenced.  Almost  at  the  same 
time  the  exhausted  Missionary  waded  through  the 
foot  of  mud  and  water  that  covered  our  floors  to 
the  haven  where  his  family  had  sought  refuge,  and 
announced  that  the  refractory  solar  was  at  last  under 
control  and  he  could  clean  up  and  rest.  The 
untasted  breakfast  was  still  spread  upon  the  table 
and  the  household  awoke  to  a cognizance  of  its 
hunger. 


108 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Wading  to  the  kitchen,  I prepared  some  chocolate. 
When  I returned  with  the  lunch,  I found  Luis  and 
Small  Son  bending  absorbedly  over  a shoe-box  filled 
with  cotton  upon  which  they  were  pouring  a few 
drops  of  kerosene. 

“ What  are  you  two  doing?  ” I asked. 

“ Luis  makes  me  a boat  of  fire,”  responded  Small 
Son. 

The  preparation  finished,  the  child  launched  his 
boat  from  the  threshold  as  Luis  threw  a lighted 
match  into  it.  The  household  crowded  to  the  door- 
way to  watch  the  box.  The  match  caught  the 
kerosene,  the  cotton  blazed  up,  the  shoe-box  bobbed 
and  fluttered  crazily  as  it  tossed  down  the  foaming 
stream  that  raced  through  the  street,  and  a won- 
derful boat  of  fire  it  was,  to  be  sure. 

“Whatever  caused  you  to  think  of  that,  Luis?” 
I asked. 

The  man  only  grimaced  as  he  attempted  to  smile, 
making  no  reply. 

In  ten  minutes  the  street  river  held  dozens  of 
careening,  whirling  flames  of  fire  as  all  the  boys  of 
the  neighborhood  instantly  seized  upon  Luis’  novel 
idea  of  entertainment  and  copied  it.  Every  door- 
way was  full  of  smiling  faces  and  dancing  shouting 
children.  Boat  after  boat  was  launched,  some  to 
topple  over  at  once,  others  to  race  madly  down  the 
swift  current,  to  catch  up  with,  to  pass  or  to  over- 
ride some  smaller  craft.  Occasionally  two  boats  col- 
lided without  overturning  one  another  and  jogged 
serenely  on  together,  while  their  delighted  owners 
shouted,  “ A marriage  ! A marriage ! ” 

Darkness  fell  quickly;  the  little  flames  that  had 
balanced  and  danced  and  raced  so  bravely  on  the 
flood  slipped  away  from  sight  and  the  neighborhood 


ELVIRA  AND  LUIS 


109 


frolic  was  over.  We  had  laughed  together,  although 
there  was  not  one  among  us  who  did  not  have  to 
turn  from  the  fun  in  the  street  to  a house  buried 
in  mud  and  water.  As  badly  off  as  was  the  Oasis, 
we  had  escaped  more  easily  than  many  of  our  neigh- 
bors, some  of  whom  had  lost  entire  walls  of  their 
houses  or  sections  of  roof. 

Monday  Luis  and  Elvira  worked  heroically  to 
bring  us  to  a scale  of  ordinary  cleanliness. 


XV 


SOCORRO 

ONE  afternoon  I felt  it  my  duty  to  make  a 
long-neglected  call.  I left  Little  Daughter 
with  Elvira  and  took  Small  Son  with  me. 
We  were  gone  an  hour,  and  as  we  approached  the 
house  on  our  return,  we  saw  the  door  standing  open 
and  the  zaguan  filled  with  riff-raff  from  the  street. 
We  heard  screams  issuing  from  the  house,  terrible 
yells  and  hoarse  bellowings.  Naturally  I thought 
that  something  had  happened  to  the  baby  and  I 
grew  so  limp  that  I could  not  run.  Small  Son  was 
too  frightened  to  go  on  alone,  so  for  a few  moments, 
horrified,  we  clung  together  there  in  the  street. 
Then  we  hurried  on,  more  and  more  afraid  to  go 
forward  as  the  distance  to  the  house  lessened.  What 
was  this  terrible  thing?  What  had  happened  to 
Little  Daughter? 

The  house  gained  at  last — how  long  we  were  in 
reaching  it ! — my  first  act  was  to  clear  the  doorway 
of  the  gamin  then,  bracing  myself,  I turned  to  face 
whatever  awaited  me. 

There  in  the  patio  were  Luis  and  Elvira.  The 
man,  blood  staining  one  cheek,  was  dancing  wildly 
around  the  woman,  madly  waving  his  long  machete 
in  her  face.  She  was  bravely  standing  her  ground, 
although  the  short  butcher-knife  that  she  held  seemed 
impotent  in  comparison  with  his  flashing  machete. 
Her  dress  was  partly  torn  from  her  body  and  hung 
in  long  tatters.  Her  black  hair  streamed  wildly 

110 


\ 


“ The  roofs  of  the  houses  of  a whole  block  are  joined  together 
at  all  sorts  of  angles.” 


A street  scene. 


SOCORRO 


111 


about  her  face,  giving  her  a savage  look.  Her  right 
hand#  swathed  in  a rag  from  her  skirt,  dripped 
blood.  Both  combatants  were  so  infuriated  that 
they  did  not  notice  me. 

My  eyes  took  in  all  this  at  the  first  glance,  and 
my  second  glance  rested  upon  my  little  year-and-a- 
half  old  daughter,  standing  in  her  balustered  bed  in 
the  room  beyond  and  laughing  gleefully  at  the 
entertainment  her  two  adorers  were  giving  for  her 
benefit.  Rallying  from  the  rush  of  thankful  relief 
that  swayed  me,  I was  about  to  make  some  effort 
to  end  the  disgraceful  scene  when  the  Missionary 
burst  through  the  door  behind  me  and,  hesitating 
not  an  instant,  rushed  at  the  two  frenzied  combat- 
ants, struck  Luis’  knife  from  his  hand,  ordered  him 
to  go  to  the  solar,  pushed  Elvira  into  her  room, 
locked  the  door,  and  pocketed  the  key. 

Then  he  turned  to  remark,  “ This  is  a pretty 
affair!  I heard  that  yelling  when  I was  still  a block 
away.  I knew  in  a moment  what  was  going  on  and 
I ran  all  the  way  when  I saw  you  entering  the  house. 
I am  sorry  that  I did  not  get  here  before  you  did 
and  so  save  you  this.  Keep  Elvira  locked  in  her 
room  until  tomorrow,  then  dismiss  her.  I think  we 
had  better  let  Luis  go  too.  We  shall  get  on  in  some 
fashion.” 

Elvira,  reproachful,  feeling  herself  most  unjustly 
treated,  protested  against  going.  Was  not  her  work 
satisfactory?  Why  should  she  leave  because  of  a 
little  matter  of  quarreling  with  another  servant? 
That  was  common  in  all  houses  and  the  senoras 
thought  nothing  of  it  if  it  did  not  interfere  with  the 
work.  Why  was  the  Doctor  so  unjust?  Yet  go  she 
did. 

Luis,  however,  stayed  on,  bending  every  energy  to 


112 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


help  me  in  all  ways  possible  to  him  until  I should 
find  someone  to  take  Elvira’s  place. 

For  the  first  week  Elvira  appeared  every  evening 
at  six  to  assist  with  the  children’s  baths  and  the 
tucking  of  them  into  bed.  Baths  are  not  so  easily 
managed  when  the  water  must  be  warmed  over  coals 
lying  on  the  fire-place,  carried  nearly  half  a block 
through  corridors  and  courts  and  poured  into  a flat 
tin  basin  of  immense  proportions  which  sits  upon  the 
floor.  After  each  bath  the  basin  must  be  lifted, 
carried  out  to  the  court,  emptied,  returned  and 
refilled.  Jt  requires  a strong  woman,  too,  to  lift  the 
children  into  and  out  of  their  tin  lake.  I never 
offered  Elvira  money  for  this  kindness,  understand- 
ing that  she  would  have  considered  such  an  offer  an 
affront. 

In  Colombia  birthday  anniversaries  are  justly 
looked  upon  as  the  most  important  days  of  one’s 
life  and  are  duly  honored.  The  date  of  the  birth 
of  each  member  of  a family  is  celebrated  by  a party 
to  which  come  all  the  relatives,  and  sometimes  friends 
as  well.  Early  in  the  day  well-dressed  servants  are 
sent  to  the  home  of  the  one  to  be  honored,  each  bear- 
ing a silver  tray  heaped  with  the  most  exquisite 
flowers,  among  which  the  birthday  gift  lies  hidden. 
After  the  fashion  of  a wedding,  all  the  gifts  and 
flowers  are  arranged  in  a separate  room  where  they 
often  make  an  imposing  display.  In  the  early  after- 
noon the  sender  of  a gift  arrives  with  his  or  her 
family  to  salute  and  congratulate  the  recipient  and 
to  view  the  gifts.  To  all  these  interested  ones  a col- 
lation must  be  served.  This  frequently  consists  of 
fried  chicken  and  sweet  crackers,  imported  from 
London,  served  with  coffee  and  a rich  syrup,  into 
which  green  figs  or  some  other  native  fruit  has  been 


SOCORRO 


113 


dropped.  Sometimes  the  chicken  is  boiled  in  a thick 
paste  of  macaroni  which  makes  a most  palatable 
dish. 

An  inconceivable  amount  of  work  attaches  itself  to 
any  attempt  to  entertain  guests  in  Colombia.  The 
silver  must  be  dug  out  of  the  trunks  and  vigorously 
polished;  all  extra  glassware  and  dishes,  provided 
there  are  any  left  unbroken,  must  be  unlocked  and 
brought  to  light  of  day;  table-linen,  taken  from 
trunks,  requires  pressing;  as  ants,  cockroaches  and 
damp  heat  make  it  impossible  to  keep  on  hand  many 
supplies,  extra  quantities  of  food  must  be  bought 
and  locked  up  until  the  hour  of  serving;  long  tables 
must  be  constructed  out  of  something  and  chairs 
and  benches  found  for  them. 

A birthday  anniversary  causes  great  inconven- 
ience and  much  work;  but  what  will  you?  Unless 
we  Americans  conform  to  custom  in  this  matter  we 
are  considered  unsocial  or  even  niggardly,  since  we 
are  sometimes  invited  to  the  homes  of  our  friends  on 
similar  occasions. 

Five  days  after  Elvira  left  our  house,  Small  Son 
celebrated  the  sixth  anniversary  of  his  birth.  Before 
the  fresh  day  was  fairly  born,  Elvira  arrived  and 
until  late  in  the  afternoon  she  lent  assistance  in  the 
kitchen,  dining-room  and  parlor,  while  the  woman  I 
was  trying  in  Elvira’s  old  position  spent  the  entire 
afternoon  in  sewing  on  six  buttons.  Luis,  likewise, 
was  at  his  best  and  vied  with  Elvira  in  being  pleasant 
and  attentive  and  in  bestowing  little  gifts  upon 
happy  Small  Son. 

It  was  with  a sigh  of  real  regret  that,  over  the 
bathtub  of  the  children  that  night,  I listened  to 
Elvira’s  account  of  the  place  she  had  secured  where 
she  would  commence  work  the  next  day. 


114 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


At  the  time  we  had  Socorro  in  the  kitchen  as  cook. 
She  was  good-looking,  robust,  about  thirty-three  or 
thirty-four  years  old  (no  servant  is  ever  certain  of 
her  age),  when  according  to  all  precedents  she  should 
have  begun  td  appear  aged,  bent  and  wrinkled. 
Strange  to  believe,  she  was  rosy-cheeked,  plump  of 
figure,  bubbling  with  humor.  I stared  in  amazement 
when  she  told  me  that  she  was  the  mother  of  ten 
children. 

“ Of  ten  children,  Socorro?  You  look  so  young!  ” 
She  laughed  gleefully.  “ Certainly  I had  not 
many  years  when  my  first  baby  came  to  me.  She 
was  a little  girl  and  pretty,  oh,  so  pretty ! All  my 
children  are  beautiful,  my  senora,  more  beautiful 
than  their  brothers  and  sisters.” 

“Whatever  do  you  mean,  Socorro?  How  can 
children  be  more  beautiful  than  themselves?” 

She  giggled  again.  “ My  Senora  is  so  lacking  in 
an  understanding  of  our  customs.  Those  children 
of  mine  are  more  handsome  than  their  legitimate 
brothers  and  sisters.” 

Of  course ; Socorro  had  been  the  concubine  wife 
of  some  gentleman.  Anyone  seeing  her  well  pre- 
served body  and  youthful  spirits  might  have  guessed 
it.  She  had  not  toiled  in  the  streets  to  support  her 
little  ones ; her  good  looks  had  bought  her  a home, 
perhaps  a two-roomed  hut  and  a servant  besides. 
She  and  her  children  had  been  sufficiently  nourished 
from  the  baskets  of  food  sent  her  each  week.  I 
understood  it  perfectly.  Were  there  not  a dozen 
such  establishments  in  our  immediate  neighborhood? 
It  is  the  universal  “ custom  of  our  country.” 

“ But  why  do  you  go  out  to  service  now,  Socorro? 
Surely  your  children  are  little  and  need  you?  ” 

The  woman  burst  into  tears  as  she  replied,  “ He 


SOCORRO 


115 


has  chosen  another  one  and  it  makes  me  work  to 
give  the  children  to  eat.” 

“ The  two  dollars  which  I pay  you  each  month  will 
hardly  clothe  you  and  feed  ten  children.” 

“ Oh,  no,  Senora,  neither  do  I have  to  feed  the 
ten.  Those  children  he  put  into  service  when  they 
each  had  seven  years.  Three  only  are  left  to  me. 
My  little  Enrique,  oh,  but  I loved  him  the  most, — 
almost  the  most,  for  was  he  not  the  little  gentleman, 
the  very  image  of  his  father? — him  he  gave  to  those 
Jesuits  to  make  him  a priest.  Me,  the  mother  of  a 
priest ! Most  Sacred  Mary,  is  it  not  wonderful  ? 
The  most  little  one  is  tiny  like  this  little  white 
daughter  of  you.  Oh,  if  the  Blessed  Virgin  would 
but  let  me  see  her ! ” 

“ Where  is  she?  ” 

“ Her  I left  in  that  town  of  Socorro.  Surely  you 
understand,  Senora  Mauda,  that  I have  the  name 
of  my  birthplace?  Socorro  ” (help)  “ comes  to  help 
you  from  the  town  of  Socorro,”  and  off  she  went  hold- 
ing her  plump  sides  in  the  excess  of  her  merriment. 

Each  pay  day  while  Socorro  was  with  me  she  came 
asking  that  I write  at  her  dictation  a loving  little 
note  to  the  three  children  in  her  home  town  and  with 
the  note  went  the  most  of  the  woman’s  wages.  She 
had  no  idea  where  the  older  children  were,  having 
necessarily  lost  all  trace  of  them. 

One  day  she  hurried  into  the  house  from  the  plaza 
and,  without  going  to  the  kitchen  to  deposit  the 
heavy  basket  of  marketing  she  carried,  burst  excit- 
edly into  my  presence. 

“ My  Senora,  you  yourself  cannot  imagine  what 
I saw  with  my  own  eyes ! ” 

“No,  indeed,  I cannot;  tell  me.” 

“ Certainly  it  was  my  daughter,  my  Rosita,  my 


116 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


first  little  baby.  It  was  none  other ! Oh,  but  she 
has  grown  so  tall  and  that  handsome ! It  made  so 
much  heat  in  the  plaza  and  I was  with  a thirst  very 
great,  so  I went  to  seat  myself  for  a moment — oh, 
just  one  little  moment,  no  more;  surely  the  Senora 
Mauda  could  not  object  to  that? — in  the  grog-shop. 
A girl,  but  the  most  beautiful  of  them  all,  gave  me 
my  guapo  ” (hot-country  beer).  “ Then  she  did  not 
leave  me  but  stood  and  gazed  at  me  much.  After- 
wards she  said,  ‘ You  do  not  know  me?  But  I know 
you,  certainly;  you  are  Socorro,  my  mother.  I am 
your  Rosita.’  Oh,  the  years,  the  years  that  I do 
not  see  my  child,  my  Rosita ! And  how  does  it 
appear  to  you,  my  Senora,  I do  not  know  her?  But 
she  knows  me,  that  I am  Socorro,  of  course,  the 
mother  of  her.  Oh,  the  joy  of  it!  My  Senora,  you 
do  not  know  the  joy  of  it ! ” 

As  I glanced  at  my  little  daughter  I silently 
prayed  that  I might  never  know  just  this  particular 
joy  that  Socorro  was  experiencing.  I thought  of 
children  in  North  America,  sixty  years  ago,  snatched 
from  the  breasts  of  loving  mothers  and  sold  into 
slavery,  and  I wondered.  When  will  the  mothers  of 
Latin  America  come  into  their  God-intended  estate? 


XVI 


CARMEN 

CARMEN’S  was  one  of  the  most  intelligent 
faces  that  I have  ever  seen  among  Colombian 
servants. 

“ Yes,  and  crafty,  too,”  remarked  the  Missionary 
when  I told  him  that  I had  engaged  the  woman. 
“ She  looks  bad.  I fear  that  you  will  be  neither 
happy  nor  comfortable  with  her  in  the  house.  You 
need  as  honest  a woman  as  you  can  get  for  that 
position  as  she  has  so  much  to  do  with  the  children 
and  she  handles  practically  all  the  clothing,  bed  and 
table-linen  in  the  house.” 

“ Yes,  but  I count  every  article  before  it  goes  to 
the  washwoman,  and  check  it  up  when  she  returns 
it  for  the  bluing  and  starching.  I count  it  all  again 
after  it  is  ironed  and  brought  to  me  for  inspection. 
Of  course  Carmen  will  have  access  to  the  children’s 
boxes  and  trunks,  but  I must  have  someone.  This 
woman’s  face  shows  that  she  can  learn  if  she  will. 
Not  one  of  the  poor  creatures  I have  had  in  these 
two  months  since  Elvira  left  could  learn  anything 
in  a lifetime ; they  are  not  endowed  with  the  capacity 
for  learning.  I am  worn  out  by  their  dullness  and 
I shall  try  Carmen.” 

I soon  found  that  the  Missionary’s  estimate  of  the 
woman  was  correct.  She  knew  no  law,  no  limit.  Her 
service  was  creditable,  but  the  blackness  of  her  heart, 
impenetrable.  Nor  was  she  content  to  walk  alone  in 

117 


118 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


her  evil  way;  she  corrupted  Socorro.  She  had  been 
in  our  house  less  than  two  weeks  and,  on  pretext  that 
she  did  not  have  suitable  clothes  for  escorting  the 
children  on  their  walks,  had  already  inveigled  me 
into  advancing  her  two  months’  wages,  when  one 
Sabbath  afternoon  she  enticed  Socorro  to  a dance 
and  street  carousal.  Night  fell  and  they  did  not 
return ; Monday  brought  no  servants.  Luis  helped 
out  as  he  was  able.  I had  him  nail  up  all  the  boxes 
containing  clothes  and  dishes,  as  I foresaw  a general 
cleaning  out  of  our  possessions  if  we  commenced  on 
a long  succession  of  new  servants  at  that  time. 

That  night  Baby  Boy  came  to  us.  There  was  not 
a woman  servant  in  the  house  and  no  nurse,  other 
than  an  old  woman  who  came  in  for  a little  time 
each  morning.  In  desperation,  Victoria,  a lank, 
slovenly  creature  with  a sullen  face,  was  taken  on  in 
the  kitchen.  When  she  recovered  from  her  debauch, 
Carmen  reappeared  and  went  to  work  as  though 
nothing  had  happened.  There  was  no  shame  in  her, 
but  Socorro  was  too  penitent  to  show  herself  again. 
I allowed  Carmen  to  stay.  How  could  I do  it?  She 
alone  knew  how  to  bathe  and  dress  Small  Son  and 
Little  Daughter,  knew  where  to  find  their  things, 
understood  about  their  food ; she  was  careful  in  these 
duties,  and  I could  not  teach  anyone  else  at  that 
time.  The  children’s  welfare  overcame  my  scruples 
and  my  repugnance  to  the  woman. 

The  third  day  of  Baby  Boy’s  life  the  Missionary 
came  to  me,  as  I kept  all  money  and  account  books 
under  my  pillow,  and  asked  for  boarding-department 
money  to  send  Luis  to  buy  supplies  for  the  dinner. 

“ Luis  went  to  market  this  morning,  as  usual,”  I 
exclaimed.  “ He  purchased  the  supplies  for  the 
day.” 


CARMEN 


119 


“ Victoria  has  just  shown  me  that  there  is  nothing 
in  the  house  to  eat.  The  food  was  all  eaten  at  noon, 
she  says.” 

“ While  I am  ill  Luis  in  my  stead  divides  the  food 
into  portions  for  eaoh  meal  before  he  gives  it  to  the 
cook.  Didn’t  he  do  it?” 

“ Do  you  know  how  many  we  are  feeding  in  the 
kitchen  ? ” 

“ Three  servants.  Yes,  four  today,  because  Maria 
de  la  Cruz  is  here  to  do  some  extra  Avashing.” 

“ As  I passed  through  the  kitchen  just  now  I 
counted  six  Avomen  all  pretending  to  do  some- 
thing. Six,  besides  Luis, — that  makes  seATen  to  be 
fed.” 

“ Whatever  does  it  mean?  ” 

“ I do  not  know.  I supposed  that  you  had  hired 
them.” 

“ Will  you  please  send  me  Luis?  ” 

Luis  disclaimed  all  knoAvledge  of  the  women  in  the 
kitchen. 

“ That  Carmen,  she  it  is  that  is  the  most  disagree- 
able Avoman  that  I have  seen,  but  ever.  She  says 
I have  nothing  that  I should  do  in  that  kitchen, 
so  of  course  I eat  in  the  patio,  and  I knoAv  nothing 
of  that  which  they  do  in  the  kitchen.” 

“ Send  me  Carmen,  Luis.” 

“ It  is  not  possible  to  me,  Senora  Mauda.  I have 
no  conversation  with  that  woman.” 

“ Then  please  tell  the  Missionary  to  send  me 
Carmen.” 

Which  is  preferable,  too  much  conversation  with 
the  dining-room  girl,  or  none  at  all?  Ah,  Luis! 

Carmen  comes.  Upon  her  face  in  full  development 
is  the  look  w’hich  the  Missionary  detected  at  first 
glance  and  warned  me  against.  Yes,  she  is  hard, 


120  THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 

and  I feel  weak  and  discouraged.  How  can  I cope 
with  her? 

“ Carmen,  the  Doctor  tells  me  that  there  are  six 
women  at  work  in  the  kitchen.  What  does  it  mean?  ” 
“ It  is  not  a thing  for  which  to  agitate  yourself, 
my  Senora,”  she  replies  in  a voice  of  silk.  “ It  is 
only  that  my  mother  comes  today  in  order  to  help 
me  but  a little  with  the  ironing.  There  is  much, 
oh,  so  much  of  that  ironing,  and  I myself  have  not 
time  to  put  my  hand  to  it.” 

“ That  leaves  two  women  unaccounted  for.” 

“ That  sister  of  mine  comes  in  order  to  help  my 
mother,”  nonchalantly. 

“ The  sixth  woman?  ” I held  her  to  it. 

“ Certainly  she  is  but  a poor  old  woman,  the  sister 
of  my  mother,  who  comes  to  help  the  cook  in  the 
cleaning  of  the  vegetables.  There  are  truly  so  many 
vegetables  that  she  alone  cannot  clean  them.” 

“ I can  well  believe  it.  And  what  pay  have  you 
promised  all  these  relatives  of  }murs?” 

“ Nothing,  my  Senora.  But  certainly  nothing. 
They  do  all  for  nothing.” 

“ Ask  Luis  to  come  here.  I shall  have  to  send 
him  again  to  market.” 

“ That  Luis  is  not  in  the  house.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  he  is,  Carmen ; I just  saw  him.  Please 
call  him.” 

“ But  Senora,  that  Luis  is  a beast.  He  is  not  even 
a Christian.”  All  soft  tones  are  gone  now,  fortis- 
simo is  being  played  with  the  loud  pedal  on.  “ It 
is  I,  I myself,  that  he  insults.  I will  not  call  him.” 
“ Then  send  me  the  Doctor,”  I beg  wearily  as  I 
turn  my  face  to  the  wall. 

“ He  is  not  able  to  come  now,  my  Senora.  The 
Little  Angel  is  sick,  she  is  with  vomit.” 


CARMEN 


121 


“Little  Daughter  sick?  Why  was  I not  told? 
What  ails  her?  ” 

“ Someone  gave  her  many  dulces.  So  much  makes 
her  sick.” 

“ Where  were  you,  Carmen,  that  you  allowed  any- 
one to  give  the  child  candy?  You  know  it  is  posi- 
tively forbidden  and  I am  trusting  you  to  care  for 
the  children.  There  is  no  one  else  to  do  it.” 

Off  she  goes,  grumbling  at  the  much  that  I expect 
of  her.  How  is  it  possible  for  one  woman  to  do  so 
much  thing?  Yet  I had  reason  to  know  that  she 
spent  part  of  her  time  sitting  in  the  kitchen,  smok- 
ing a vile  pipe. 

An  anxious  hour  passed.  No  one  came  near  me, 
although  I called  repeatedly  and  Baby  Boy  from 
his  cradle  at  the  other  side  of  the  room  added  his 
new  little  voice  to  mine.  I grew  more  and  more  cer- 
tain that  Little  Daughter  had  been  poisoned  by  the 
filthy  dulce  and  was  perhaps  dying.  As  a matter  of 
fact  she  was  very  ill  and  I had  her  bed  placed  by 
the  side  of  mine  so  that  I could  watch  her  at 
night. 

Immediately  after  the  six-o’clock  dinner  the  Mis- 
sionary came  into  my  room  and  remarked,  “ You 
must  get  rid  of  Victoria.  We  cannot  endure  her  for 
another  meal.” 

“Of  Victoria?  Whatever  can  we  do  without  a 
cook?  What  is  the  matter  with  her?” 

“ Have  you  seen  her  since  she  entered  the  house?  ” 
“ No,  she  came  at  noon  that  first  day  of  Baby 
Boy’s  life.  She  has  been  here  only  two  and  one  half 
days,  and  Carmen  has  acted  as  our  intermediary.” 
“ Well,  call  her  in  and  take  a good  look  at  her. 
Make  some  excuse  to  speak  to  her.” 

She  was  sent  for  and  in  a few  moments  stood  at 


122 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


my  bedside.  A “ good  look  ” was  not  necessary ; a 
fleeting  glance  sufficed. 

“ Victoria,”  I commenced  wearily,  “ we  find  that 
we  cannot  manage  with  you  and  we  shall  have  to  try 
someone  else.  You  may  stay  the  night  if  you  like 
and  take  your  coffee  here,  but  you  must  let  Luis 
prepare  the  coffee.  Here  is  your  money  and  some- 
thing besides.” 

“And  this  for  what?  How  is  it  that  I do  not 
manage  here?  Is  it  that  my  Senora  thinks  in  me 
for  the  fault  that  the  dinner  did  not  reach  today? 
That  fault  is  not  of  me.  That  woman  who  helped 
me  clean  the  vegetables,  she  it  is  who  carries  away 
those  vegetables  in  the  pocket  of  her  skirt.  The 
fault  is  not  of  me.” 

“ No,  Victoria,  the  lack  of  food  for  the  dinner 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I do  not  care  to  explain, 
but  I wish  you  to  go, — to  go  now.” 

The  Missionary  had  seated  himself  with  a book 
during  this  interview.  When  the  woman  had  gone 
he  looked  up  and  asked,  “ Then  you  saw?  ” 

“ How  is  it  possible  for  a human  being  to  get  so 
dirty?  That  unkempt  hair  flying  long  over  her 
shoulders,  I should  think  that  it  would  be  in  all  the 
food.” 

“ It  was.  That  is  particularly  why  I felt  that 
none  of  us  could  eat  another  mouthful  that  she 
cooked.” 

“ What  shall  we  do?  ” 

“ Luis  will  attend  to  the  morning  coffee.” 

“ Luis  to  prepare  and  Carmen  to  serve ! You 
know  they  will  not  do  it.  Besides  Luis  cannot 
manage  the  midday  breakfast  nor  the  dinner.  If 
Carmen  would,  she  could  prepare  food  for  the  chil- 
dren and  for  me ; but  she  probably  will  not  do  it. 


CARMEN 


123 


Who  is  to  look  after  you  and  the  boarding  boys?” 
“ Well,  you,  at  least,  will  not  do  it,  so  why  worrj^P 
Perhaps  the  washwoman  may  be  induced  to  help  out 
until  Luis  finds  you  a cook.” 

No  cookxwas  forthcoming.  We  worried  along 
until  I was  able  to  move  about  a little,  then  Carmen 
went  into  the  kitchen  as  cook  which  left  me  entirely 
without  a nurse  girl.  Baby  Boy  fell  ill. 

When  the  child  was  about  a month  old,  the  Mis- 
sionary inquired,  “ Did  you  sleep  at  all  last  night?  ” 
Without  waiting  for  a reply  he  added,  “You  hire 
the  first  woman  who  comes  to  you  today.  Take  her 
for  a nurse  girl  and  keep  her  at  your  side.  Luis 
can  continue  to  serve  table.  You  see,”  he  added  with 
a laugh,  “ I can’t  have  these  babies  left  on  my  hands 
out  here  alone.  You  must  take  some  thought  for 
yourself.  I will  send  Luis  to  round  up  someone  and 
you  engage  her.” 

A few  hours  later  three  children  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

“ Luis  told  us  that  the  Senora  needs  a nurse  girl,” 
remarked  the  middle-sized  one  indifferently. 

“ Yes,  but  I need  a woman,  not  a child.  None  of 
you  are  old  enough  to  bear  any  responsibility.” 

“ I have  eleven  years,  and  she,”  pointing  to  the 
largest  of  the  three  girls,  “ has  fourteen  years.” 

“ Neither  of  you  will  do.  I need  a woman.” 

The  Missionary  came  into  the  room  at  that 
moment  and,  as  he  took  wailing  Baby  Boy  from  my 
arms,  said  in  English,  “ You  need  two  women,  a 
nurse  and  a doctor.  Since  you  have  none  of  these 
you  will  hire  that  largest  girl  now.  It  does  not  mat- 
ter where  she  has  worked  or  what  she  knows.”  Turn- 
ing to  the  girl,  he  said,  “ You  are  engaged.  You 
may  go  for  your  box  after  dinner.  You  will  receive 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


124 

one  dollar  and  fifty  cents  the  first  month  and  after 
that  two  dollars  per  month  if  you  are  satisfactory. 
This  is  high  wages  for  even  a grown  woman  to  earn, 
but  you  will  be  expected  to  keep  yourself  clean  and 
to  do  quickly  whatever  the  Senora  tells  you.  Please 
go  now  to  the  kitchen  and  bring  me  a glass  of  water 
for  the  little  Senorita,  here.  You  other  girls  may 
go  home.” 

“ But  you  do  not  know  her  name,  even,”  I pro- 
tested. 

“ Little  Daughter  will  have  her  drink  even  if  we 
do  not  know  the  new  servant’s  name,”  was  his  reply. 

When  the  girl  returned  I looked  at  her  apprais- 
ingly. An  ordinary  barrel-shaped  figure  surmounted 
by  a tiny  head  of  which  the  chin  was  almost  lacking, 
plump  brown  limbs,  fully  displayed  by  a dress  that 
barely  touched  the  knees, -r-there  was  nothing  un- 
usual about  her  appearance ; nor  was  there  anything 
unusual  about  the  strong  odor  that  surrounded  her. 

“ Do  you  think  that  we  can  put  up  with  that  odor 
in  a nurse  girl?”  I asked  the  Missionary. 

“ Give  her  some  money  and  send  her  to  bathe  her- 
self now.” 

“ But  you  know  that  these  women  leave  at  once 
if  you  but  suggest  that  they  bathe.” 

“ Tell  her  that  you  will  give  her  a dime  when  she 
gets  back  if  she  will  do  it.” 

The  ten  cents  worked  the  trick.  She  bathed  and 
it  must  have  been  a process  indeed,  for  she  was  three 
hours  doing  it.  Looking  and  smelling  like  another 
creature  she  returned  to  carry  out  carefully  every 
suggestion  and  request  that  I made. 

Eldemira  was  one  of  the  quietest,  most  inoffensive 
and  obedient  of  the  servants  I have  known.  She  was 
not  one  who  could  arise  to  great  occasions  and  do 


CARMEN 


125 


wonderful  things  outside  of  the  daily  routine,  like 
Maria  Rodriguez  and  Elvira.  On  the  contrary  there 
was  little  that  she  could  do.  She  had  received  no 
training  in  anything,  it  seemed  to  me,  and  she  was 
very  slow;  but  she  could  be  counted  upon  to  per- 
form the  same  little  duties  day  after  day,  once  she 
had  learned  what  was  expected  of  her.  Apparently 
she  had  no  vices ; if  she  chewed  or  smoked,  like 
Carmen,  it  was  not  in  my  presence  and  no  smell  of 
tobacco  clung  to  her  clothing;  if  she  drank,  I never 
saw  any  signs  of  it.  She  made  no  struggle  against 
keeping  herself  clean  or  wearing  the  white  aprons 
with  which  I provided  her.  When  I made  her  a new 
dress  and  suggested  that  we  have  it  reach  to  her 
ankles  she  seemed  pleased  and  quickly  assented.  Her 
ready  acquiescence  in  everything  and  her  quiet  un- 
obtrusiveness were  a comfort  to  me.  The  six  months 
that  she  was  with  us  were  among  the  most  trying 
of  my  life  and  Eldemira  was  of  great  assistance 
to  me. 


XVII 


IN  THE  COUNTRY 

THE  heat  continued  intense  and  gaping  fissures 
in  the  face  of  the  baked  earth  stared  reproach- 
fully at  the  insolent  blue  sky  that  refused  to 
cover  its  mocking  face  with  clouds.  All  nature  was 
parched.  The  city  streets  lay  full  of  the  excrement 
and  garbage  of  many  months,  while  the  earth 
awaited  its  semi-annual  bath. 

Baby  Boy  grew  no  better  and,  although  I was  in 
great  need  of  both,  I gained  neither  strength  nor 
flesh.  Small  Son  had  suffered  from  fevers  for  nearly 
a year  and  sores  which  the  medical  men  seemed 
unable  to  heal  had  broken  out  over  his  body. 

We  began  seriously  to  consider  getting  out  of  the 
city.  One  who  has  not  dwelt  many  days’  journey 
from  a railroad,  in  a country  where  no  civilized  man 
lives  outside  of  a city  or  a village,  can  form  any 
conception  of  what  “ going  to  the  country  ” involves 
in  South  America. 

Several  weeks  were  spent  by  the  Missionary  in 
trying  to  secure  a house.  We  had  hoped  to  go  to  a 
place  higher  than  the  city  and  so  escape  some  degree 
of  the  prostrating  heat,  but  it  was  not  possible  to 
secure  such  a place.  A friend  who  owned  a ranch 
seven  miles  from  the  city  offered  us  the  use  of  his 
house  with  all  the  underbrush  we  needed  for  fuel  for 
cooking,  and  the  milk  from  a mountain  cow,  if  we 
could  catch  her  and  her  calf. 

126 


IN  THE  COUNTRY 


127 


The  question  of  servants  arose;  if  we  went  to  the 
country  would  anyone  go  with  us?  Luis  could  be 
trusted  to  remain  at  the  house  to  see  to  things,  and 
to  bring  us  food  from  the  city,  since  nothing  to  eat 
is  ever  found  in  the  country.  The  Missionary  could 
spend  some  of  the  week-days  with  us,  as  this  was 
“long  vacation,” — December  and  January.  What 
about  Eldemira  and  Carmen?  The  former  made  no 
objection  to  going,  the  latter  demurred,  was  afraid 
that  she  would  not  like  the  country.  After  much 
persuasion  she  consented  to  go  on  condition  that  I 
pay  her  three  months’  wages  in  advance.  I consulted 
the  Missionary. 

“ I wish  it  were  possible  to  get  along  without  her,” 
he  said,  “ but  I do  not  see  how  it  is  to  be  managed. 
You  must  rest  and  Eldemira  cannot  cook,  wash  or 
iron.  I will  see  if  we  cannot  find  someone  else  and 
so  dismiss  her.” 

No  one  else  could  be  secured,  so  at  last  we  were 
forced  to  agree  to  Carmen’s  demands,  with  her 
solemn  promise  given  that  she  would  surely  stay  with 
us  during  our  six  weeks  in  the  country  and  do  all 
the  work  of  the  house,  so  that  Eldemira  might  be 
entirely  free  to  look  after  the  three  children. 

Two  strenuous  days  of  packing  followed ; bedding, 
our  plainest  clothes,  oldest  table-linen,  dishes,  pans 
and  kettles,  food  of  all  sorts,  medicines,  books  and 
two  years’  magazines,  saved  up  for  vacation  time  if 
it  ever  came.  We  were  obliged  to  take  everything 
necessary  for  civilized  life  in  a wilderness,  however 
simple  we  meant  that  life  to  be. 

We  arrived  just  before  dark.  With  the  Mis- 
sionary and  Luis  working  at  the  improvised  beds  and 
the  indispensable  mosquito-nets,  Carmen  hanging 
kettles  over  the  three  stones  that  were  our  stove, 


128 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


and  I preparing  the  milk  over  an  alcohol  lamp  for 
the  tired  children,  I gave  no  attention  to  Eldemira. 
When  I returned  to  the  cubby-hole,  politely  called  a 
bedroom,  where  I had  left  her  to  watch  the  children, 
I found  that  she  had  made  up  Baby  Boy’s  bed  in 
the  clothes  basket,  arranged  his  net  over  it,  brought 
out  clean  garments  for  all  three,  and  spread  out 
everything  for  the  baths  quite  as  though  we  had  been 
in  the  Oasis. 

A peaceful,  restful  week  followed.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  mar  our  comfort  except  that  the  trip  had 
been  too  much  for  me  and  I was  forced  to  take  to 
my  bed,  and  that  the  sand  flies  by  thousands  fed 
upon  us,  day  and  night. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  before  Christmas. 
All  housework  dragged.  The  leaves  of  the  giant 
mangoes  on  every  side  were  motionless,  the  birds 
were  too  oppressed  by  the  heat  to  make  a sound,  the 
very  air  hung  breathless ; why  should  I urge  my 
women  to  work?  Part  of  the  week’s  washing  shame- 
lessly exposed  itself  to  view  on  a brush  fence,  part 
of  it  lay  on  stones  in  the  creek-bed,  wadded  with 
chunks  of  soft  soap,  part  of  it  still  remained  in  the 
house,  unwet.  No  cooking  of  any  sort  had  been  done 
for  the  next  day — Christmas.  Just  before  dark 

Carmen  came  asking  that  after  dinner  she  might  be 
allowed  to  walk  to  the  city,  seven  miles  distant,  to 
attend  the  Christmas  Eve  street  revelries. 

“ Why,  no,  Carmen,  I do  not  think  it  wise  to  give 
you  permission.  You  would  not  be  in  condition  to 
return  for  several  days  and  we  cannot  manage  with- 
out you  now.  The  fireworks  can  be  seen  from  here 
much  better  than  from  any  point  in  the  city.  We 
will  have  a little  tree  tomorrow  for  you  girls  and  the 
children ; Small  Son  has  chosen  that  tiny  orange  tree 


IN  THE  COUNTRY 


129 


in  front  of  the  house  and  we  will  have  it  decorated 
by  seven  o’clock  in  the  morning,  so  that  it  can  be 
lighted  by  the  sun  the  moment  it  appears  over  the 
mountain ; that  will  be  prettier  than  any  candles. 
You  cannot  go.  It  may  mean  some  sacrifice  for  you 
but  there  are  recompenses  and  you  see  you  promised 
to  stay.  You  are  having  a restful  vacation  out  here 
with  no  hurry  and  no  ceremony.  I cannot  give  you 
permission.” 

Then  she  had  the  audacity  to  ask  me  for  a dollar. 
I reminded  her  that  she  was  already  paid  three 
months  in  advance,  with  the  understanding  that  she 
was  to  have  no  more  money  during  that  time.  Say- 
ing nothing  she  went  back  to  the  kitchen. 

Eldemira  had  come  to  me  as  destitute  as  any 
woman  I ever  had.  I had  been  making  her  clothing 
and  advising  her  as  to  the  use  of  her  wages  when 
she  should  receive  them.  That  afternoon  she  asked 
me  for  a dollar,  which  was  practically  all  that  she 
had  as  yet  earned  in  my  service. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  with  money  in  this 
wilderness?”  I asked. 

“ This  night  Luis  goes  towards  that  city.  I send 
by  him  that  he  buys  me  some  things  for  tomorrow.” 

“ Eldemira,  I forbid  your  giving  anything  to  the 
children  tomorrow.  You  need  your  money  for  dozens 
of  things  and  you  must  not  spend  it  on  them.” 

“ I do  not  spend  that  money  on  them ; would  that 
I could!  Of  course,  I do  mv  will  with  that  money.” 

With  many  misgivings  I gave  her  the  dollar.  Had 
any  suspicion  of  the  truth'  crossed  my  mind  I would 
have  refused  her  it. 

After  a hurried,  makeshift  dinner,  Carmen  de- 
parted for  the  city.  Naturally  I could  not  prevent 
her  going.  The  Missionary  had  a service  in  the  city 


130 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


that  evening  and  did  not  come  out  to  the  ranch  until 
the  next  day.  So  I passed  that  night,  as  I spent 
many  succeeding  ones,  alone  in  the  wilderness,  in 
charge  of  three  helpless  children,  a nine-year-old 
boarder  left  over  from  the  school,  and  a young  nurse 
girl. 

Carmen  never  came  back.  I lost  the  wages  I had 
advanced  her,  and  what  was  much  worse,  Eldemira 
never  recovered  the  dollar  which  Carmen  had  induced 
the  young  girl  to  beg  from  me  to  lend  to  her.  The 
woman  must  have  been  heartless  indeed  to  have  taken 
from  so  poor  a creature  as  Eldemira. 

Although  from  time  to  time  Luis  brought  out  a 
woman  from  the  city,  none  of  them  ever  remained 
long  and  I did  not  have  a regular  housemaid  during 
the  rest  of  the  time  that  we  were  in  the  country. 


XVIII 


COOKS 

BACK  in  the  city,  school  in  progress,  with  at 
least  two  of  the  children  sick  all  the  time,  I 
struggled  on  with  a half-dozen  cooks  the  first 
two  months. 

There  was  Delia,  whose  mother  pretended  to  be  a 
respectable  woman,  claiming  to  have  been  married 
to  the  father  of  her  large  family,  a man  long  since 
dead.  Delia  was  a most  attractive  young  woman, 
white  of  skin,  slender  of  figure,  with  a wealth  of 
bronze  black  hair,  soft  and  fluffy.  The  look  of  her 
told  that  she  was  out  of  place  in  the  servant  class. 
In  the  States  such  a girl  would  grace  some  office, 
or  at  least  a factory,  but  here  practically  no  avenue 
except  that  of  house-work  is  open  to  a girl  who  must 
earn  her  own  living. 

Delia  had  long  begged  to  be  taken  on  as  cook  in 
our  home  and  her  mother  had  wasted  many  of  my 
precious  hours  in  repeated  efforts  to  induce  me  to 
try  her  daughter,  but  the  girl  was  in  every  way 
unfitted  for  service  in  a school  for  boys  and  young 
men.  We  had  no  separate  building  for  the  school, 
nor  had  we  one  for  the  religious  services.  Every- 
thing was  brought  into  the  one  rented  house  where 
we  lived.  The  kitchen,  although  under  the  same  roof 
with  the  dining-room  was  at  least  eight  rods  distant 
from  it.  To  pass  from  one  room  to  the  other  it  was 
necessary  to  go  through  two  long  corridors  and  two 

131 


132 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


courts.  The  larger  of  these  courts  was  used  as  a 
school-room  six  days  of  the  week  and  filled  by  fifty 
or  sixty  pupils,  boys  and  young  men,  while  on  Sun- 
days and  evenings  it  became  a church,  with  seats  all 
nicely  arranged.  Through  school  and  church,  the 
work  of  the  household  ebbed  and  flowed,  the  restless 
tide  that  never  ceases  between  a kitchen  and  the  rest 
of  the  house. 

I soon  discovered  that  Delia  was  too  nice  for  her 
position.  She  would  pertly  receive  instruction  for 
the  marketing  and  trip  off,  basket  on  arm.  Two 
hours  later  she  would  return  with  very  inferior  vege- 
tables, some  items  always  lacking,  a few  cents  unac- 
counted for.  As  I found  out  at  last,  she  did  not  go 
to  the  market  at  all.  She  carried  the  basket  as  far 
as  her  mother’s  home,  a block  from  the  Colegio,  then 
seated  herself  to  gossip  leisurely  with  her  elder  sister 
while  a twelve-year-old  girl  was  sent  to  do  my  mar- 
keting. Likewise  did  she  shirk  the  dishwashing.  The 
little  drudge  from  her  mother’s  came  in  every  day 
and  washed  up  the  accumulation  in  the  kitchen  while 
Delia  mended  her  flimsy  apparel. 

It  may  be  contended  that  Delia  was  not  in  condi- 
tion to  carry  the  heavy  marketing,  as  she  had  been 
with  me  only  a few  days  when  I discovered  that  she 
was  facing  maternity.  Yet  she  was  well  and  strong. 
When  I dismissed  the  girl  she  disappeared,  and  it 
was  three  weeks  before  any  of  us  saw  her.  Then  she 
reappeared,  thinner  and  whiter  than  usual,  as  slim  of 
figure  as  a ten-year-old,  and  asked  if  I would  receive 
her  again  in  service,  adding,  “Now,  as  I am  well,  I 
can  serve  the  Senora  better.” 

There  was  Natividad,  tall,  slim,  lithe,  yet  not  good 
to  look  upon.  Her  shifting  eyes  and  artful  expres- 
sion left  us  in  doubt  as  to  her  entire  sanity. 


Valentine,  on  left  of  rear  row.  Hulling  corn  for  arepas  (corn-cakes). 


COOKS 


133 


Saturday  is  the  great  market  day  in  our  city. 
Upon  that  day,  after  the  morning  classes — for  we 
have  school-sessions  six  days  of  the  week — the  Mis- 
sionary was  accustomed  to  go  to  market  followed  by 
Luis,  bearing  over  his  arm  several  large  sacks,  and 
by  the  cook,  carrying  two  baskets.  All  supplies  pos- 
sible to  be  purchased  b}^  wholesale  were  bought  for 
the  week,  Luis  carrying  home  the  heavier  things  and 
the  woman  bringing  the  green  vegetables  and  the 
fruit.  Often  Luis  made  several  trips  before  all  was 
safely  stowed  in  the  house. 

The  first  Saturday  that  Natividad  was  with  us 
she  refused  to  go  to  market,  although  she  had  made 
no  objection  to  going  on  the  previous  days  of  the 
week. 

“ Why  do  you  object  to  going?  ” I asked  her. 
“ You  must  have  expected  to  do  marketing  when  you 
engaged  as  cook,  and  I thought  that  all  of  you 
women  liked  especially  to  dress  up  and  go  to  market 
on  Saturdays.” 

“ I do  not  go  those  Saturdays,”  was  all  the  answer 
vouchsafed  me.  Exasperated,  I finally  told  her  that 
she  would  have  to  leave  if  she  would  not  go  to 
market  on  every  day  except  Sunday,  and  I went  back 
to  my  class.  She  followed  me  into  the  classroom  and 
communicated  the  reason  in  a whisper;  on  Saturdays 
her  father  was  in  the  market  and  it  would  make  him 
angry  if  he  saw  her  there. 

“ I do  not  understand,”  I returned. 

“ It  is  that  my  father  is  a gentleman.  To  him  it 
is  a disagreeable  sight,  that  of  seeing  me  carry 
baskets  in  the  plaza.  He  puts  himself  very  angry 
with  me  for  that.” 

“ Has  he  a right  to  dictate  to  you?  What  does 
he  do  for  you?  ” 


134 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ But  nothing.  Never  in  his  life  does  he  do  any- 
thing for  me ; never  does  he  speak  to  me  in  the  whole 
of  my  life.” 

“Then  what  does  all  this  nonsense  mean?  How 
do  you  know  that  he  is  angry  with  you  when  he  sees 
you  in  the  plaza?  ” 

“ Before  she  died  my  mother  taught  me  that  thing. 
That  I know  well.” 

“ Are  you  sure  that  your  father  will  be  in  the 
market  today  ? ” 

“ Of  course.  Always  he  is  there  on  those  Satur- 
days.” 

“ Well,  you  will  have  to  go  to  market  on  Satur- 
days if  you  remain  with  me  and  you  must  go  today. 
The  Doctor  will  not  care  to  wait  for  you  either,  so 
you  will  need  to  hurry.” 

She  was  ready  to  go  when  the  Missionary  came 
from  his  classes.  Once  in  the  market  she  stared  from 
side  to  side,  was  not  behind  the  Missionary  when  he 
turned  to  deposit  some  purchase  in  her  basket,  and 
finally  lost  herself  entirely  in  the  crowd.  A little 
later  the  Missionary  saw  her  and  sent  Luis  to  call 
her.  The  man  returned  bringing  her  in  his  wake  but 
just  as  they  approached,  the  woman  turned  suddenly 
and  skulked  out  of  sight.  The  Missionary  hired 
another  woman  to  bring  home  his  purchases  and  on 
his  return  asked  me  what  ailed  the  new  cook. 

“ Is  she  crazy?  I do  not  go  to  the  market  to  play 
hide-and-seek  with  the  cook,  and  I am  thoroughly 
disgusted.  It  is  the  woman’s  business  to  keep  close 
behind  me  and  to  be  on  hand  when  I need  her.  I 
have  no  time  to  spend  in  hunting  her  up.” 

I promised  that  she  should  behave  herself  or  I 
would  secure  someone  who  could  do  so.  When  I 
talked  to  her  about  it  she  explained  that  she  was 


COOKS  135 

dodging  from  side  to  side  to  keep  out  of  her  father’s 
sight. 

“ Who  is  your  father?  ” 

“ Certainly  the  Senora  Mauda  does  not  ask  of  me 
that?  It  is  not  the  custom  in  Colombia  to  answer 
that  question.” 

“ Well,  it  does  not  matter  who  he  is,  this  nonsense 
must  end.” 

A few  days  later  she  came  tearing  into  the  house 
on  a run,  her  basket  empty.  I happened  to  be  in 
the  kitchen  when  she  arrived. 

“ Whatever  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? Where  is  the 
marketing?  ” I asked. 

“ My  father ! Me  he  saw  in  the  plaza  and  out  he 
comes  to  follow  me.  By  no  means  can  I let  him  know 
where  I am  in  service,  neither,  in  fact,  that  I am  in 
service.  I ran,  but  fast,  and  he  loses  me.  I hide 
here  in  the  house.” 

“ Natividad,  this  mysterious  father  of  yours  has 
upset  this  household  quite  long  enough.  You  have 
bought  nothing;  by  the  time  that  you  walk  sixteen 
blocks  to  the  market  and  back,  and  buy  the  supplies, 
breakfast  is  two  hours  late,  and  you  know  that  we 
cannot  allow  a meal  to  be  even  ten  minutes  late  in 
this  school.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?” 

“ If  that  Luis  should  go  now  to  the  plaza  I com- 
mence the  breakfast  even  now.” 

“ If  Luis  is  in  the  house  he  will  have  to  go,  I sup- 
pose, whatever  may  be  the  work  at  which  the  Mis- 
sionary has  set  him.  He  may  do  the  marketing  the 
rest  of  the  week,  also,  and  next  week  I shall  try 
another  woman.  My  patience  with  you  is  ex- 
hausted.” 

Perhaps  I would  not  have  been  so  ready  to  dismiss 


136 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


her  had  she  been  satisfactory  in  other  respects,  but 
she  was  not.  Her  familiar  manner  with  the  older 
boys  of  the  school  disgusted  those  young  men  and 
the  Missionary  objected  to  her  passing  through  a 
room  where  he  was. 

The  matter  of  having  meals  exactly  on  time  in  a 
school  is  vital.  Yet  for  a month  I bothered  with  a 
pottering  old  woman,  Maria  of  the  Exaltation,  who 
would  never  have  a thing  even  started  for  the  break- 
fast when  I came  from  my  classes,  an  hour  before 
serving.  It  resulted  in  my  preparing  each  meal,  and 
the  poor  old  cook  was  useful  only  in  washing  the 
dishes,  which  were  never  well  w'ashed. 

Epifania  had  a mother  who  wras  caring  for  the 
girl’s  child,  a boy  of  two  years.  Was  it  any  wonder 
that  the  girl,  while  cook  at  our  house,  considered  it 
legitimate  and  even  a righteous  deed  to  send  some- 
thing each  meal  of  the  day  to  her  mother  and  the 
child?  Before  she  despatched  the  food  to  the  table 
she  would  dish  out  a portion  into  a gourd  and  hide 
it  under  her  bed,  to  be  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the 
boy  whom  the  mother  sent  each  day  to  receive  it. 
This  was  done  regularly  and  the  Missionary  was  not 
quite  sure  that  I was  justified  in  asking  Epifania  to 
leave  because  of  it. 

There  was  Marfa  of  the  Benediction,  a girl  of 
fifteen  who  would  have  attracted  attention  anywhere. 
She  was  a study  in  black  and  white,  her  jet  black 
hair  forming  a striking  contrast  to  her  olive-white 
complexion.  Delicately  curved  eyebrows  shaded 
great  confiding  eyes  of  soft  black.  Still  and  sad  was 
the  expression  of  the  sweet  face,  prematurely  old. 
She  possessed  an  innate  refinement  entirely  lacking 
in  most  of  her  predecessors  in  our  household. 

It  should  be  remembered  that  the  mestizos  of 
I 


COOKS 


137 


Colombia,  although  spoken  of  as  “ Indian,”  often 
possess  far  less  Indian  than  Spanish  blood.  We 
number  the  negroes  of  the  States  by  the  millions ; 
how  many  are  the  full-bloods  among  them?  So  in 
Latin  America,  she  who  has  one  drop  of  Indian  blood 
is  called  “ mestizo,”  “ peon,”  “ Indian,”  although  the 
other  ninety-nine  drops  be  from  the  highest  Spanish 
families.  With  all  the  aspirations  and  longings  of 
their  generations  of  white  fathers  surging  in  their 
hearts,  these  girls  are  condemned  to  the  lives  of 
slaves,  to  work  like  beasts,  to  live  like  animals,  with 
no  outlook,  no  hope  of  better  things.  Education, 
pretty  clothes,  innocent  pleasures,  happy  home  life, 
— these  things  are  forever  denied  to  them,  I care 
not  how  they  struggle  for  them,  how  they  demand 
them. 

No  Indian  whatever  showed  in  Marfa  de  la  Ben- 
dicion ; she  was  of  a high  Spanish  type,  and  appar- 
ently nothing  had  come  down  to  her  from  her  far- 
away Indian  grandmother.  She  was  quiet  and 
attentive,  but  totally  untrained  in  any  department  of 
work. 

A New  Yorker,  long  past  middle  age,  had  found 
his  way  to  Colombia  on  some  business  venture.  He 
made  weekly  excursions  into  near-by  villages,  but  his 
Sundays  were  spent  in  our  city  and  he  sometimes 
attended  our  services.  One  afternoon  the  Mis- 
sionary remarked: 

“ I heard  that  Benson  was  in  town  and  sick,  so 
hunted  him  up  to  find  him  in  a frightful  hole;  just 
a cot  squeezed  into  a dark  little  two-roomed  tienda, 
with  flies  and  unmentionable  insects  making  his  life 
unbearable.  He  is  very  sick  from  a sort  of  blood 
poison,  caused  by  the  bites  of  sand  flies;  he  has  no 
care  and  nothing  decent  that  he  can  eat.  The  man 


138 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


will  die  if  he  stays  there,  and  yet  I do  not  see  what 
we  can  do  about  it.” 

“ Of  course,  I know  what  you  would  like  to  do 
about  it,”  I responded.  “ If  we  were  to  bring  him 
here,  where  could  we  put  him?  We  are  ready  to 
overflow  as  it  is.” 

“ I do  not  know  where  we  could  put  him.  There 
is  no  place  and  both  of  us  have  far  too  much  to  do 
now.” 

“ The  man  is  an  American,  and  sick,  out  here 
thirty  days  from  New  York,  his  home.  We  must  do 
something  for  him.” 

“ It  looks  that  way.  We  cannot  let  almost  the 
only  American  we  have  ever  seen  here  die  in  such  a 
place.” 

“ If  you  will  see  that  Luis  is  at  my  disposal 
tomorrow  when  I finish  classes  you  may  arrange  to 
bring  Mr.  Benson  here  tomorrow  before  dinner.” 

There  was  no  unoccupied  room  in  the  house.  The 
Missionary,  the  three  children  and  I slept  in  the 
corridor  of  a tiny  court,  in  a row  of  white  mosquito- 
netted  beds.  There  was  still  a small  parlor  and  a 
long  “ office  ” left  us.  Luis  and  I moved  the  con- 
tents of  the  parlor  into  the  crowded  office,  and,  in 
the  room  thus  vacated,  fixed  up  the  best  pretense 
of  a bedroom  possible  with  the  materials  at  hand. 
Night  found  Mr.  Benson  occupying  the  room. 

Truly  the  man  was  very  ill,  but  not  so  ill  that  he 
could  not  make  everyone  around  him  most  uncom- 
fortable. It  was  no  one’s  special  duty  to  wait  upon 
him  and  after  two  or  three  trials  each,  none  of  the 
servants  except  Marfa  de  la  Bendicion  would  do  it. 
Yet  she  was  especially  sensitive.  Having  with  my 
help  hopefully  prepared  something  that  we  thought 
the  sick  man  might  eat  she  would  carry  it  to  his 


COOKS 


139 


room,  only  to  emerge  a few  minutes  later,  sobbing 
convulsively,  as  she  fled  to  the  kitchen.  While  she 
never  refused  to  go  to  Mr.  Benson’s  room,  as  did 
Luis  and  Eldemira,  yet  each  visit  caused  her  such 
suffering,  that  I did  not  send  her.  Eventually  the 
entire  care  of  the  sick  man  fell  upon  the  Missionary 
and  me.  He  underwent  two  minor  operations  in  our 
home  and  five  months  later  returned  to  New  York 
as  well  as  ever. 

Marfa  became  less  and  less  able  to  do  her  work. 
The  white  piteousness  of  her  delicate  face  smote  my 
heart.  A mere  child,  endowed  by  her  Maker  with 
great  beauty  and  a sensitive  soul,  yet  facing  woman’s 
greatest  ordeal  with  no  one  in  the  whole  world  to 
care  what  became  of  her  or  her  offspring,  no  one 
to  raise  a hand  to  help  her,  no  home,  no  money,  not 
even  a State  Institution  to  which  to  turn. 

At  last  she  came  to  me  in  despair,  tragedy  written 
on  her  lovely  face,  as  she  said : 

“ Senora  Mauda,  there  is  not  to  me  the  strength 
to  work  here  more.  I must  go.” 

“ Where  do  you  go,  Marfa  ? ” and  my  voice  was 
gentle,  for  a great  sympathy  for  her  stirred  my 
heart. 

“ It  is  in  the  country  that  I have  a sister  who 
works  on  a ranch.  To  her  I go.  Perhaps  I stay 
there.” 

“ But  what  can  you  do  P ” 

“ Certainly  I work  in  the  coffee-field,  but  it  is  bet- 
ter that  I go.” 

“ I suppose  it  is,”  I replied  reluctantly.  I thought 
of  the  life  of  a woman  on  a ranch;  work  of  the 
heaviest  kind,  commencing  hours  before  daylight  and 
enduring  until  long  after  dark,  one  meal  in  each 
twenty-four  hours,  and  a meagre  one  at  that,  with 


140 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


guapo,  guapo,  all  hours  of  the  day.  At  night  the 
privilege  of  lying  on  the  chill  earth  floor  of  a vermin- 
infected  hut,  without  bedding  of  any  sort.  Whose 
was  the  fault  that  this  frail  young  girl  was  con- 
demned to  such  a life  at  such  a time?  And  the  child 
to  come;  to  what  was  it  coming?  Something  is 
radically  wrong  with  a land  where  more  than  half 
the  inhabitants  are  born  to  such  lives. 

Is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  these  girls  some- 
times commit  terrible  crimes,  even  the  killing  of  their 
own  children,  born  or  unborn?  Like  Topsy,  spring- 
ing from  nowhere  in  particular,  “ just  growed,”  with 
no  teaching,  no  precedent,  no  standard,  no  legal  way 
to  realize  motherhood,  no  possibility  of  avoiding  their 
fate,  since  they  are  the  prey  of  all  men  of  whatever 
class — men  who  will  accomplish  their  purpose  by 
any  means,  bribery,  violence,  drugs, — not  one  in  one 
hundred  of  these  poor  girls  escapes.  And  yet  we 
cannot  look  upon  them  as  bad.  Condemn  not  the 
girl-mothers ; God  Himself  can  have  only  loving  pity 
for  them. 


XIX 


TWO  MARIAS 

ONE  afternoon  two  estimable-looking  middle- 
aged  women  came  to  see  me.  The  younger 
of  the  two  offered  me  the  elder  as  cook, 
remarking  that  Maria  Jesus  was  a friend  of  hers 
and  a capable  woman.  I seized  upon  the  proffered 
woman  with  avidity.  Would  she  come  at  once? 
Would  she  prepare  dinner  now? 

“ Oh,  no,  most  certainly  no,”  her  spokesman  said. 

“ Such  is  not  custom  here.  Maria  Jesus  is  a self- 
respecting  woman.  She  needs  time  in  order  to  con- 
sider that  thing.  She  needs  time  to  take  a bath  and 
to  wash  her  clothes.  In  two  more  days  she  comes.” 
“Will  you,  Marfa  Jesus P Will  you  come  in  two 
days  ? ” 

“ It  is  certain,  Senora.  In  those  two  days  I 
come.” 

She  came  and  she  remained.  That  was  three  years 
ago,  and  today  she  may  be  found  in  our  kitchen,  pre- 
paring the  dinner. 

She  told  me  that  somewhere  in  Colombia  she  had 
three  grown  sons  and  a young  daughter  from  w'hom 
she  had  not  heard  for  years.  During  the  first  year 
that  she  was  with  us,  she  traced  the  daughter  and 
brought  her  from  the  town  where  she  found  her  to 
our  city.  A bright,  pretty  girl  she  proved  to  be,  1 
and  we  easily  placed  her  in  a good  family  as  nurse 
girl. 


141 


142 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Do  not  believe  that  we  have  always  sailed  on 
smooth  seas  with  Maria  Jesus,  who,  as  do  all  self- 
respecting  women  here,  worships  the  god,  custom. 
“ It  is  the  custom  ” is  final ; any  mistress  who 
chooses  to  beat  herself  against  that  Gibraltar  but 
destroys  herself, — she  does  not  change  the  custom 
one  whit.  Maria  Jesus  will  forever  do  things  as  she 
has  always  done  them ; but  she  is  fairly  neat,  frugal 
and  knows  how  to  cook  Colombian  food.  She  is  gar- 
rulous and  fussy,  yet  always  respectful. 

Hers  is  a good  business  head. 

“ If  my  Senora  thinks  in  paying  to  me  a little 
more  I grind  that  chocolate  in  the  house.” 

How  could  I,  with  but  three  servants,  ever  have 
dreamed  of  having  the  chocolate  bean  prepared  for 
cocoa  at  home,  as  is  done  in  all  “ good  houses  ” 
where  from  six  to  twelve  servants  are  kept  to  wait 
upon  one  family?  Astute  old  Marfa  knows  that  by 
paying  her  fifty  cents  more  per  month  I am  saving 
myself  full  a third  of  the  cost  of  the  cocoa,  of  which 
our  family,  chiefly  the  Colombian  element  of  it,  uses 
ten  pounds  each  month. 

The  chocolate  beans,  large,  brown,  kidney-shaped, 
are  purchased  in  the  plaza  by  the  pound.  While 
they  are  being  roasted  in  a flat  pan  over  the  coals, 
one  person  is  kept  constantly  stirring  them.  Two 
coats  has  each  bean ; the  first,  tough  and  tenacious, 
the  second,  soft  and  elusive  like  the  inner  skin  of  the 
peanut.  Both  of  these  must  be  removed,  laboriously. 
One-half  day  of  hard  work  is  required  for  reducing 
the  beans  to  a soft  sticky  pulp  by  grinding  them 
between  two  stones.  With  this  paste  is  mixed  warm 
soft  dark  sugar,  half  and  half.  A thorough,  tire- 
some kneading  of  the  whole  mass,  then  several  hours 
spent  in  rolling  little  wads  of  the  paste  between  the 


TWO  MARfAS 


143 


palms  of  the  hands,  and  a day’s  labor  is  rewarded  by 
the  satisfying  sight  of  a table  covered  with  smooth 
brown  chocolate  walnuts,  neatly  arranged  in  rows. 
One  of  these  soft  balls  is  dropped  into  a cup  of 
water,  brought  to  a boil,  beaten  up  with  a little  stick 
which  is  twirled  dexterously  between  the  fingers  of 
both  hands,  and  behold! — the  Colombian’s  favorite 
drink,  a foaming,  oily,  sweet  chocolate,  highly  spiced 
with  cinnamon. 

Ours  is  a city  without  water ; obviously  no  wash- 
ing can  be  done  in  the  houses.  In  some  parts  of  the 
world  no  advance  has  been  made  in  the  profession 
of  washwoman  since  Eve  took  the  clothes  of  Cain 
and  Abel  to  the  river  for  cleansing. 

Most  Colombian  washwomen  have  weather-beaten 
faces,  shrewd  and  kindly.  The  forced  contact  with 
sun,  wind  and  water  produces  in  them  a cheerfulness 
and  a wholesomeness  lacking  in  many  cargo-carriers, 
from  w’hose  faces  the  life  of  a beast  of  burden  often 
wipes  every  trace  of  intelligence.  The  washwoman 
is  not  lethargic ; she  is  possessed  of  a humorous 
philosophy  that  keeps  her  alive  under  the  bite  and 
blister  of  intolerable  conditions. 

Marfa  de  la  Cruz,  typical  of  her  class,  is  yet 
slightly  less  robust  and  rather  more  intelligent  than 
many.  She  treasures  a child,  the  idol  of  her  heart, 
a pretty,  stolid,  rosy-cheeked  little  girl  who  “ has 
six  years.” 

Long  before  the  regular  six-o’clock  appearance  of 
the  sun,  Maria  of  the  Cross  takes  in  her  hand  a 
small  basket  containing  a meagre  lunch  and  many 
long  slim  bars  of  a soap  so  soft  it  is  difficult  for  it 
to  keep  its  shape.  Two  of  us  assist  the  woman  to 
lift  to  her  back  a ponderous  bundle  made  up  of  a 
week’s  washing  for  our  large  household.  This  is 


144* 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


secured  to  her  shoulders  and  head  by  a harness,  ropes 
binding  her  chest,  a broad  band  pressing  her  fore- 
head. Tugging,  heaving,  struggling,  her  back 
almost  horizontal  with  the  earth,  she  plods  to  a creek 
a mile  distant  for  her  day’s  work. 

Why  start  before  daylight?  The  streams  that  are 
used  as  the  city’s  wash-tubs  are  divided  on  both  sides 
into  sections  called  “ pilas.”  A pila  includes  some 
ten  or  twelve  feet  of  the  river  bank,  all  the  water  that 
flows  b}7  that  point,  and  the  ground  extending  back 
from  the  river.  Five  cents  per  day  is  paid  for  the 
rent  of  a pila.  The  women  who  arrive  earliest  at 
the  stream  may  choose  the  pilas  highest  up  and  so 
find  the  water  comparatively  clean  and  clear.  The 
women  who  come  later  are  obliged  to  wash  lower  down 
with  water  that  the  other  women  have  already 
frothed  with  soap  and  dirt.  Since  quarantine  is 
unheard  of,  leprosy  and  worse  diseases  stalking  in 
hideous  forms  through  the  streets  and  lurking  in  the 
foul  hovels,  infection  from  the  water  in  which  all  the 
world  washes  her  clothes  is  common.  Thus  it  be- 
hooves us  to  despatch  our  washwoman  early  that  she 
may  secure  a pila  high  up  the  stream. 

Each  article  is  wet,  smeared  with  soap,  bunched 
into  a wad,  and  thrown  upon  the  ground  to  soak. 
The  bleaching  sun  streams  down  upon  it,  the  woman 
occasionally  takes  it  up,  rewets  it,  resoaps  it  and 
plumps  it  down  again.  One  by  one  each  article  takes 
its  turn  on  a flat  stone  at  the  vigorous  slapping  and 
pounding,  kneading  and  rolling,  which  is  supposed 
to  assist  the  sun  and  soap  in  extracting  the  dirt.  All 
day  long  under  the  blazing  sun  the  washwoman 
stands  knee-deep  in  the  cold  water  of  the  mountain 
stream  and  toils,  ever  on  the  alert  that  a handker- 
chief or  a child’s  sock  does  not  float  away  on  the 


TWO  MARfAS 


145 


current.  She  soaps  and  souses,  she  pounds  and  pom- 
mels, she  rinses  and  wrings,  until  at  dark  she  strains 
slowly  home  under  the  crushing  weight  of  the  clothes 
— wet!  She  stumbles  blindly  into  our  doorway  and 
drops  her  load  upon  the  nearest  bench,  half  squatting 
in  front  of  it  while  we  unbind  her  harness. 

’Tis  the  way  the  burden-bearers  rest.  Through 
all  the  streets  and  trails  may  be  seen  logs  or  stones 
set  up  for  this  very  purpose,  that  the  weight  of  the 
cargo  may  be  sustained  while  the  exhausted  bearer 
sinks  gasping  against  it,  runs  her  fingers  under  the 
band  cutting  into  her  forehead,  mops  at  the  sweat 
dripping  from  her  face,  eases  the  binding  of  the  ropes 
on  her  chest.  Were  she  to  drop  the  burden  on  the 
ground  she  would  be  unable  to  lift  it  again  to  her 
shoulders  or  to  adjust  it  alone. 

What  does  Maria  de  la  Cruz  receive  for  fourteen 
hours  of  such  work?  I pay  her  fifteen  or  twenty 
cents,  but  she  requires  not  less  than  seventy  or  eighty 
cents’  worth  of  soap  for  each  washing.  And  the 
clothes,  are  they  clean?  Wonderfully  clean  and 
beautifully  white,  it  matters  not  of  what  color  they 
were  when  they  left  the  house,  pink,  blue,  yellow — 
they  all  return  white,  at  least  in  streaks  and  spots. 
Here  is  one  explanation  of  the  fact  that  the  most 
of  the  people  of  our  city  wear  white;  it  is  more  satis- 
factory to  start  one’s  things  out  white  in  the  first 
place  for  no  color  can  resist  the  sun  and  soap  of 
Colombia. 


XX 


LUIS  LEAVES  OUR  SERVICE 

IT  was  Avliile  we  were  in  the  country  that  Luis 
began  to  lose  his  hold.  Many  of  the  sheets  and 
most  of  the  towels  that  were  sent  to  the  wash 
the  first  few  weeks  after  Baby  Boy  came  were  never 
found.  We  felt  that  their  loss  was  to  be  attributed 
to  Carmen  or  her  numerous  relatives.  So  the  day 
after  Christmas  the  Missionary  made  the  trip  to  the 
city  on  foot  to  securely  lock  all  the  front  part  of 
the  house,  leaving  Luis  access  only  to  the  kitchen  and 
the  solar.  In  vain  did  we  explain  to  the  man  that 
this  was  done  on  Carmen’s  account  who,  on  plea  that 
she  had  some  things  in  the  house,  might  enter  during 
his  absence.  He  preferred  to  believe  that  we  were 
doubtful  of  his  honesty.  This  idea  would  never  have 
entered  his  head  had  he  been  the  same  Luis  with  whom 
we  had  often  entrusted  what  must  have  seemed  to 
him  large  sums  of  money.  But  he  had  been  drinking 
since  Elvira  left  us,  and  during  the  weeks  that  he 
was  much  of  the  time  alone  in  the  house  he  took  some 
of  his  meals  at  a tienda  where  he  received  guapo  with 
his  food.  This  naturally  increased  his  thirst. 

Only  semi-weekly  did  he  bring  the  marketing  to  the 
country.  On  one  of  these  occasions  he  arrived  drunk, 
— loudly  drunk.  He  rattled  off  terrible  language  to 
me  and  leered  at  me  wildly  when  I ordered  him  away. 
I hastily  put  the  three  children  into  the  tiny  hot 
bedroom,  and  shut  and  locked  the  door,  although 

146 


LUIS  LEAVES  OUR  SERVICE 


147 


this  left  us  in  complete  darkness,  stifling  darkness, 
as  there  was  no  window.  The  house  had  three  small 
rooms  opening  in  a row  upon  a long  porch.  Up 
and  down  this  porch  tore  the  drunken  man,  raving 
wildly.  I was  mortally  afraid  of  him,  and  but  for 
the  children  I was  alone.  Eldemira  was  washing  at 
the  creek  and  Julio,  the  boarder,  was  with  her. 

Not  until  the  man  had  at  last  fallen  upon  the 
porch  floor  in  a drunken  stupor  did  I venture  out. 
He  lay  there  all  night.  Before  dawn  the  next  morn- 
ing he  arose,  stealthily  gathered  the  fagots  for  the 
three  stones  that  served  as  a stove,  and  slipped  away 
without  speaking  to  any  of  us.  Poor  Luis!  To  so 
disgrace  himself  with  the  family  he  loved ! 

Almost  never  after  that  night  did  I see  Luis 
entirely  sober.  Again  and  again  we  dismissed  him, 
but  he  did  not  go  far  away,  and  always  appeared 
to  help  out  in  times  of  stress.  Then  he  would  stay 
on  until  we  became  afraid  of  him  or  until  we  found 
him  pilfering  to  get  money  for  his  liquor  when  we 
would  again  tell  him  to  leave.  Although  he  always 
took  his  dismissal  quietly,  we  could  see  that  it  was 
a blow  to  him. 

We  were  in  one  of  our  frequent  throes  of  moving, 
the  disaster  that  has  so  beset  us  in  this  city.  Luis 
had  appeared  from  somewhere  to  help.  All  the 
world  knows  that  moving  is  not  easy  at  best.  It  is 
an  agony  when  everything  must  be  carried  upon 
men’s  backs,  lashed  on  so  that  the  little  things  may 
not  fall  off  and  be  lost,  tied  securely  that  the  whole 
cargo  may  not  fall  apart  and  topple  to  the  ground. 
Large,  heavy  articles  are  carried  on  a platform 
borne  on  the  shoulders  of  two  or  more  men.  Since 
both  the  loading  and  the  unloading  must  be  care- 
fully watched  that  nothing  be  stolen,  every  pair  of 


148  THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 

honest  hands  and  eyes  are  welcome  at  such  a time 
as  this. 

The  first  and  the  second  day  of  the  moving  passed 
without  any  worse  accidents  than  were  to  be  ex- 
pected. The  third  day  Luis  grew  more  and  more 
excited  until  I asked  the  Missionary  if  the  man  were 
entirely  responsible. 

“ I fear  that  he  is  not,”  was  the  reply,  “ but  what 
can  I do?  It  breaks  my  heart  to  turn  the  poor  fel- 
low off  again.” 

An  hour  later  a scream  from  Maria  Jesus  brought 
everyone  on  a run  to  the  kitchen.  Before  we  could 
reach  it  pandemonium  broke  loose,  a pounding,  yell- 
ing, wailing,  that  froze  our  blood  with  horror.  We 
had  reason  to  be  frightened.  Luis  had  turned  sud- 
denly from  his  work  and  seized  upon  Small  Son,  the 
person  in  the  whole  world  whom  he  most  loved,  and 
had  attempted  to  kill  him.  A boarding  boy,  just  a 
stripling,  had  knocked  the  child  from  the  maniac’s 
hands,  thrown  Son  into  an  adjoining  room  and  pre- 
cipitated himself  after  him.  Managing  to  close  the 
door,  he  locked  it  before  Luis  could  turn  around  and 
grasp  the  significance  of  what  had  happened.  Mad- 
dened, the  servant  was  trying  to  beat  down  the  door 
to  reach  the  boys. 

Everyone  was  screaming,  but  no  one  dared  do  any- 
thing. When  the  Missionary  arrived  on  the  scene 
he  walked  straight  to  Luis,  a man  much  larger 
and  more  vigorous  than  himself,  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  man’s  shoulder  and  said  firmly,  “ Luis,  leave  the 
house.” 

Step  by  step,  in  some  miraculous  fashion,  he  slowly 
forced  the  deranged  creature  through  the  great 
court,  down  the  long  corridor  and  into  the  street. 
Not  once  did  he  remove  his  hand  from  the  man’s 


LUIS  LEAVES  OUR  SERVICE 


149 


shoulder,  not  once  did  Luis  pause  in  his  ravings. 
The  street  reached,  the  Missionary  pushed  shut  the 
heavily-spiked,  plank  door,  and  slipped  into  place 
the  long  iron  bar  that  secured  it.  Then  he  turned 
to  us  a face  as  white  as  chalk,  as  he  said,  “ Go  to 
your  work,  men.  Eldemira,  bring  my  son  to  me  in 
the  office.” 

For  more  than  an  hour  Luis  raved  wildly  and  beat 
his  hands  against  the  immovable  door  until  it  was 
stained  with  blood  from  the  lacerated  knuckles. 
Finally  several  policemen  appeared  and  dragged  the 
frantic  man  to  jail.  The  next  day  the  Missionary 
looked  him  up  and  secured  him  a position  with  a 
painter. 

What  was  the  past  of  that  taciturn  man,  so  violent 
at  times,  yet  with  so  loving  a heart?  Had  he  been 
a murderer? 

His  future  is  easy  to  read;  unless  he  gives  up 
drinking,  a thing  most  difficult  to  do  in  a liquor- 
soaked,  besotted  land,  he  will  be  killed  in  some 
drunken  debauch. 

Why  make  mention  of  the  incompetent,  irrespon- 
sible men  who  followed  Luis?  Men  who  allowed  the 
cow  to  lose  herself,  and  the  donkey  to  run  away,  who 
could  not  be  trusted  to  sweep,  mop  and  spread  lime 
each  morning  in  the  bedroom  of  our  domestic  ani- 
mals, who  insisted  upon  sweeping  the  courts  and  the 
street  in  front  of  the  house  on  Sundays,  who  paid 
far  more  than  they  should  have  paid  for  forage  that 
was  poor  and  marketing  that  was  bad,  who  forgot  to 
bring  the  bread,  who  let  the  plants  burn  up  and  the 
bath  run  dry. 

To  have  borne  a child  makes  all  classes  of  women 
akin.  Each  morning  after  my  own  little  son’s  bottles 
and  milk  had  been  attended  to,  with  equal  care  I fol- 


150 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


lowed  the  formulas  for  mixing  sterilized  milk  and 
boiled  water  for  the  large  bottles  presented  me  by 
the  wretched  child-mothers  who,  clasping  their 
skinny  babies  to  their  unclean  breasts,  squatted  in 
our  zaguan.  Each  morning  I took  the  dirty  nursing 
bottles  from  the  grimy  hands  of  these  girls  and 
tried  to  teach  the  poor  creatures  how  to  cleanse  the 
bottles  and  the  nipples. 

One  among  this  pitiable  group  offered  to  enter  our 
house  to  care  for  the  donkey  and  the  cow  until  we 
could  secure  a good  man.  For  a few  weeks  Dolores 
made  a supreme  effort.  Without  a single  inherited 
or  acquired  instinct  of  cleanliness,  the  poor  woman 
found  our  requirements  difficult ; that  she  should 
bathe  her  wailing  infant  was  an  imposition,  that  she 
should  keep  it  wrapped  in  a clean  garment,  an  indig- 
nity ; “ so  much  of  work,  my  Senora.”  If  a woman 
can  see  no  necessity  for  keeping  herself  or  her  child 
clean,  what  may  be  said  of  the  condition  of  the  bed- 
room of  the  cow  under  her  ministrations?  Dolores 
was  incapable  of  coming  up  to  the  standard  we  set 
for  her,  and  when  I persisted  in  requiring  that  she 
should  care  for  her  son  properly,  since  I could  not 
endure  his  piteous  constant  wail,  she  left  in  high 
dudgeon. 

I do  not  say  that  Dolores  was  exceptional ; she, 
like  the  rest  of  us,  was  individual,  hardly  typical. 
We  have  not  found  Colombian  servants  lacking  in  a 
desire  to  improve  their  condition  or  in  gratitude  to 
him  who  attempts  to  help  in  such  improvement. 

At  last  we  secured  Benito,  a miniature  man  who 
stands  scarcely  higher  than  the  donkey.  Benito’s 
name  lacks  but  one  letter  of  being  beautiful, — bonito 
- — but  how  great  must  be  the  importance  of  that 
letter ! It  is  amusing  to  see  him  hopping  about  the 


LUIS  LEAVES  OUR  SERVICE 


151 


donkey,  who  is  more  obstinate  on  occasions  than  any 
mule,  in  a futile  effort  to  induce  the  beast  to  obey 
his  orders.  In  size  and  intelligence  two  Benitos 
might  be  made  from  one  Luis.  Such  an  insignificant 
figure  does  not  lend  dignity  to  the  Missionary’s 
establishment,  but  so  long  as  the  donkey  does  not 
step  on  him,  we  shall  probably  keep  Benito.  He  is 
strenuously  doing  his  little  best. 


XXI 


ELDEMIRA 

ONE  day  as  I was  dismissing  my  last  class  of 
the  morning,  Eldemira  announced: 

“ Senora,  there  is  a policeman  among 
those  who  wait  to  see  you.” 

I give  the  classes  with  the  children  playing  on  a 
mat  at  my  side  or  in  the  court  within  my  line  of 
vision.  They  form  quite  enough  interruption  to 
class-work  without  one  of  the  servants  running 
in  every  few  moments  to  say,  “ The  Senora  leaves 
me  no  sugar ; all  is  locked  up,”  or,  “ I forgot  it 
myself  to  buy  extra  milk ; I need  that  at  once.  I 
must  have  more  money.”  There  is  a penalty,  slightly 
less  than  the  death  penalty,  hanging  over  anyone 
who  disturbs  me  when  I am  in  class.  Even  callers 
must  wait;  everything  and  everybody  waits,  and  it 
all  piles  up  until  the  class  is  dismissed  when  it 
descends  at  once  in  an  avalanche  upon  my  head. 

“ What  does  the  policeman  want?”  I asked 
Eldemira. 

“ Who  knows?  ” shrugging  her  shoulders.  “ There 
he  is.” 

Even  as  the  Bible  attended  to  matters  of  the  law 
before  it  gave  attention  to  love  and  charity,  so 
friends  and  beggars  waited  while  I addressed  myself 
to  the  officer  of  the  law,  standing  at  attention  on 
our  threshold. 

“ In  the  Senora’s  honorable  household  is  there  a 
girl  named  Eldemira?”  he  asked. 

152 


Eldemira  and  the  children,  in  the  country.  Bautista,  with  three-days-old  small  son. 


ELDEMIRA 


153 


“ Yes,  Senor,”  I replied. 

“ She  is  to  go  with  me.  Here  is  the  paper.”  And 
he  thrust  out  a warrant  for  Eldemira’s  arrest. 

“ But  she  is  only  a young  girl  and  I cannot  let  her 
go  alone  to  the  police-station.  Of  course  you  have 
no  idea  for  what  she  is  needed?  ” 

“ But  certainly  no,  honorable  Senora.” 

“ Strange  that  these  warrants  never  state  for  what 
one  is  arrested.  Since  I suppose  that  she  must  go, 
I shall  go  with  her.” 

Having  called  Maria  from  her  duties  in  the 
kitchen  to  watch  the  babies,  Eldemira  and  I set 
off,  she  tagging  the  policeman  and  I bringing  up  the 
rear.  Our  peculiar  wireless  telephone  was  in  excel- 
lent working  order  on  this  occasion.  Long  before 
we  reached  the  police  station  I discerned  the  chief 
of  police  standing  at  the  door,  bareheaded.  As  I 
commenced  to  climb  the  steps,  he  hastily  descended 
and,  hat  in  one  hand,  gracefully  offered  the  other 
hand  to  escort  me  up  the  steps.  However  he  would 
not  let  me  enter  the  building. 

“ This  is  no  place  for  the  illustrious  Senora,”  he 
said.  “ If  the  honorable  Senora  does  not  wish  to 
leave  her  servant  here  alone,  the  girl  may  return  with 
her  to  her  home.  I shall  do  myself  the  honor  to  call 
upon  the  Doctor  Reverend  and  explain  the  matter.” 
I despatched  Eldemira  to  the  house  at  once.  Since 
I was  down  town  I thought  that  I would  buy  a spool 
of  thread  I needed,  so  proceeded  towards  a shop, 
when  almost  immediately  I met  the  Missionary.  For 
once,  and  I believe  for  the  only  time  in  my  life,  I 
found  him  excited.  Words  poured  so  rapidly  from 
this  quiet  man’s  mouth  that  I could  say  nothing. 

Eight  gentlemen,  all  of  them  from  the  best  families 
in  the  city,  had  that  day  interviewed  him,  all  with 


154 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


the  same  complaint;  Eldemira  had  contaminated 
their  sons — twelve  young  boys  in  all 

“ Eldemira  ! ” I exclaimed.  “ It  is  not  possible ! 
The  girl  is  never  in  the  streets  at  night.  She  never 
asks  permission  to  go  out  of  the  house  and  she  has 
had  no  hours  off  for  weeks  because  the  children  are 
always  sick.  I know  it  is  not  she.  It  couldn’t  be ; 
there  is  some  mistake.” 

“ These  gentlemen  would  not  make  an  accusation 
that  they  could  not  prove.  I do  not  understand  it 
any  better  than  you  do,  but  there  must  be  some 
explanation.” 

“ There  is,  and  it  is  that  they  are  mistaken  in  the 
woman.  Too,  Eldemira  is  so  young,  it  is  impossible 
to  credit  the  story.” 

“ We  shall  see.  However,  I have  just  left  word 
at  the  medico’s  office  that  he  come  at  once  and 
examine  the  girl  and  the  three  children.  Think  to 
what  we  have  exposed  those  babies,  with  such  a nurse 
girl!  The  thought  drives  me  mad,”  and  he  shud- 
dered. 

The  doctor  pronounced  the  children  sound  as  yet, 
but  he  would  repeat  the  examination  later.  The  girl 
was  in  bad  condition.  When  he  informed  us  of  this, 
Eldemira  flew  into  a passion,  declared  that  he  lied, 
that  it  was  all  a conspiracy  to  drive  her  from  the 
only  home  she  had  ever  known,  to  prejudice  against 
her  the  only  friends  she  had  ever  had. 

“ I shall  still  be  your  friend,  Eldemira.  Never 
can  I forget  the  nights  that  we  have  hung  over  Baby 
Boy’s  cradle,  or  how  patient  you  have  been  with 
Little  Daughter.  The  medico  says  that  he  can  cure 
you  in  a few  months’  time ; if  you  will  go  somewhere 
to  stay  I will  pay  your  board  and  buy  your  remedies 
until  you  are  well,  then  you  may  return  to  me.” 


ELDEMIRA 


155 


“But  nothing  ails  me,  Senora  Mauda.  You 
are  no  friend  of  mine  if  you  believe  the  medico’s 
lies.” 

In  a terrible  rage  she  packed  her  box  with  the 
clothes  that  I had  made  her  and  hastily  departed. 

Little  by  little  we  learned  the  whole  wretched 
business.  Eldemira  had  never  known  a mother’s 
care — nor  in  fact  the  love  and  care  of  anyone.  The 
old  hag  who  raised  her  had  begun  to  hire  her  out 
before  she  was  ten  years  of  age.  The  poor  child 
had  never  known  any  other  life,  had  never  been 
taught  anything  until  she  came  to  us.  With  us  she 
had  learned  much,  but  not  enough ; she  had  not  taken 
to  herself  the  strength  of  Christ  to  help  her  in 
reforming. 

Each  morning  when  she  carried  Baby  Boy  in  her 
arms,  with  Little  Daughter  clinging  to  her  skirts, 
she  had  not  gone  to  the  park,  as  I had  supposed,  but 
to  the  houses  in  the  worst  part  of  the  city,  where 
she  had  left  the  babies  in  the  arms  of  diseased 
wretches  while  she  met  the  boys  who  ran  away  from 
the  Jesuit  school.  While  I gave  classes  at  home  and 
waited  upon  Small  Son,  always  in  bed,  sick  of  fevers, 
comforting  myself  with  the  thought  that  the  two 
little  ones,  at  least,  were  breathing  fresher  air  and 
rejoicing  in  the  shade  of  the  mango  trees,  they  were, 
in  reality,  in  the  most  polluted  air,  being  caressed 
and  kissed  by  the  foulest  creatures  under  God’s  fair 
sky.  Their  escape  from  contamination  was  due  to 
nothing  less  than  a miracle  and  we  so  recog- 
nized it. 

“ This  is  what  our  practicing  economy  has  led  us 
into,”  remarked  the  Missionary.  “ In  no  other  house 
in  the  city  is  the  nurse  girl  allowed  to  go  out  alone 
with  the  children.  Always  from  two  to  three  serv- 


156 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


ants  are  sent  along  so  that  each  can  watch  the 
others.  From  now  on,  we  hire  two  women,  not  one. 
A woman  is  needed  to  help  Maria  Jesus  in  the 
kitchen,  to  do  the  ironing  and  the  sewing  that  are 
taking  the  last  ounce  of  strength  out  of  you.  Why, 
any  seamstress  would  consider  it  one  woman’s  con- 
stant work  to  keep  this  family  in  clothes  where  noth- 
ing can  be  bought  ready-made.  But  in  addition  to 
all  the  sewing  you  teach  most  of  the  day,  iron,  count 
beans,  bananas  and  what  not,  keep  accounts,  inter- 
view beggars  and  stay  up  all  night  with  the  chil- 
dren. You  must  get  two  women,  and  when  the  babies 
are  taken  to  the  park,  send  Marfa  Jesus  with  them, 
if  Small  Son  is  too  ill  to  go  along  to  watch  them.”  I 
never  saw  Eldemira  again.  In  less  than  a year  she  was 
dead.  Tossed  on  the  limitless  sea  of  passion,  buffeted 
by  gales  of  suffering,  struggling  in  the  cruel  waters  of 
indifference,  this  human  wreck,  scarcely  out  of  child- 
hood, sank  rapidly.  Friendless  and  homeless  and 
dying,  she  blindly  groped  her  way  to  the  “ hospital  ” 
which  flanks  the  city  cemetery,  was  admitted  and  al- 
lowed to  lie  upon  the  dirty,  ragged,  brick  floor  with 
no  cot,  no  mattress,  supplied  her.  That  night,  left 
alone  in  torture  of  body  and  agony  of  mind,  the  poor 
girl  slipped  away  from  the  world  that  had  been  so 
unkind,  and  another  soul  stood  for  judgment  in  the 
presence  of  its  Maker.  Of  that  judgment,  none  can 
guess ; only  God  knows.  But  I seem  to  hear  words 
echoing  through  the  ages,  “ Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it 
not  to  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  did  it  not  to  me.” 
Who  shall  say  whose  was  the  soul  weighed  in  the  bal- 
ance when  Eldemira  faced  her  God?  The  child  never 
had  a chance. 

Marfa  Jesus  heard  that  Eldemira  had  gone  to 
“ hospital,”  and  she  went  early  in  the  day  to  see  if, 


ELDEMIRA 


157 


there  were  anything  she  could  do  to  help  the  girl. 
As  the  cook  entered  the  building,  a woman,  known  as 
a “ nurse,”  who  was  passing  through  the  corridor, 
accosted  her. 

“ Are  you  a relative?  ” pointing  to  the  dead  body 
on  the  floor. 

“ No,  I am  only  any  neighbor’s  child  ” (just  any- 
body who  happens  along). 

“ Then  what  were  you  to  her?  ” 

“ Once  she  was  employed  in  the  house  where  I am 
cook  and  I liked  her  much.” 

“ How  does  it  seem  to  you,  they  tell  me  she  leaves 
many  pretty  things,  footwear,  dresses ; is  it  not  so?  ” 
“ Who  knows  ? ” was  the  non-committal  reply. 

“ She  had  relatives  ? ” 

“ Who  knows  ? ” 

“ But  where  are  these  things  of  hers  ? ” 

“ I know  nothing.”  Maria  Jesus  was  alert.  She 
would  not  assist  this  woman,  who  had  rendered  no 
single  service  to  Eldemira,  to  come  into  possession 
of  the  few  things  the  girl  had  left. 

While  our  cook  stood  there,  two  men  entered  car- 
rying two  long  poles  held  in  parallel  position  by 
means  of  short  cross-bars.  Laying  the  poles  upon 
the  floor,  they  carelessly  dragged  the  inanimate  body 
upon  the  rude  bier,  lifted  it,  and  trotted  rapidly  over 
the  few  feet  of  ground  that  intervened  between  the 
spot  where  the  body  bad  lain  and  a row  of  shallow 
graves,  always  kept  dug,  awaiting  occupancy.  Ar- 
rived at  the  grave,  the  men  lifted  one  side  of  the 
bier  and  rolled  the  corpse  into  the  opening.  Thud ! 
— it  fell  into  the  grave  and  the  men,  stopping  not 
to  straighten  the  body,  commenced  to  shovel  earth 
over  it.  Earth  that  was  replete  with  fragments  of 
human  bodies,  bones,  skulls,  for  this  ground  is  re- 


158 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


peatedly  dug  for  new  graves.  The  opening  filled,  the 
men  returned  to  the  house  for  another  corpse. 

After  this  fashion  they  die  and  are  buried.  Such 
burials  are  not  made  necessary  by  the  stress  of  war, 
where  the  many  are  mowed  down  and  must  be  cov- 
ered in  ditches;  they  are  every-day  affairs.  The 
horror  is  not  that  of  a passing  day,  the  unthinkable 
tragedy  of  a few  years  of  war;  it  is  a continuous 
horror,  unbroken,  undiminished,  the  same  through- 
out generations,  throughout  centuries. 


XXII 


ELVIRA 

EVENTUALLY  Benigna  and  Jova  were  intro- 
duced into  the  family.  Forever  displaying 
a fine  row  of  white  teeth,  dark,  squat  little 
Benigna  was  well  named  “ benign.”  She  was  the  most 
orderly  being  I have  ever  dwelt  with.  She  could  get 
up  at  any  hour  of  the  darkest  night  and  at  once 
lay  her  hand  upon  the  thing  needed  at  the  moment. 
Never  a pin  nor  a button  was  found  out  of  place 
while  Benigna  fusse,d  around  our  things. 

Jova  was  decidedly  pretty,  with  rosy  cheeks ; a 
buxom  lass  who  could  do  the  heaviest  washing,  carry 
it  wet  on  the  head  and  back,  and  never  lose  her  color 
or  her  spirits.  They  were  two  of  the  most  normal 
girls  I have  known  in  Colombia;  full  of  life,  ready 
for  fun  and  romance.  What  a terrible  pity  that 
neither  fun  nor  romance  can  legitimately  enter  into 
the  life  of  servant  girls  here!  No  amusement  of 
any  sort  is  provided  for  them  other  than  that  of 
the  saloon  and  the  street  revelry.  All  the  innocent 
little  pleasures  possible  to  young  people  in  the  States 
are  denied  these  young  girls.  Homes  and  family  life 
are  forever  beyond  their  reach,  yet  many  of  them 
have  the  nicest  instincts  of  homekeeping  and  of  the 
care  of  children. 

During  the  interval  between  the  departure  of 
Eldemira  and  the  coming  of  Benigna  I had  several 
women  for  short  periods  each.  Among  them  was 

159 


160 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Socorro,  my  former  cook.  Luis  knew  of  Eldemira’s 
going — as  who  did  not?  Our  telephone  system  with 
no  metallic  instruments  is  most  perfect, — and  he 
came  to  inform  us  that  Socorro  would  be  very  glad 
to  come  back  to  us  but  that  she  was  ashamed  to 
offer  herself.  I sent  him  to  say  to  her  that  I should 
be  happy  to  see  her  again  in  my  house  if  she  would 
promise  not  to  repeat  her  offense.  Socorro  was  not 
a bad  woman,  she  was  merely  weak,  and  too  good- 
natured. 

She  proved  motherly — naturally,  with  ten  children 
to  her  credit ! — but  ignorant  of  the  first  principles 
of  caring  for  a child.  She  was  eager  to  please  and 
not  garrulous,  but  was  most  inattentive.  The  chil- 
dren might  have  stood  on  their  heads  in  a row,  or 
have  taken  to  the  air  and  have  flown  away,  and  she 
never  would  have  noticed  it  or  have  thought  there  was 
anything  strange  in  it  if  she  had  noticed.  She  was 
decidedly  too  indulgent  to  the  “ Little  White  Angel.” 
Anything  the  child  wanted  she  immediately  had,  if 
Socorro  were  near.  I often  thought  pityingly  of 
those  ten  and  wondered  how  they  lived  through  it ! 

One  night  as  we  finished  tucking  the  three  chil-  ' 
dren,  fresh  and  sweet  from  their  baths,  into  their 
little  white  beds  and  were  carefully  securing  each 
mosquito  net,  Socorro  told  me  that  she  was  soon 
leaving  our  house. 

“ But  my  dear  woman,  what  is  the  matter?  Are 
you  not  content  here?  ” 

“ That  woman  in  the  kitchen ! That  Marfa  Jesus ! 
But  who  can  live  in  the  same  house  with  her?” 

“Oh,  never  mind  Marfa  Jesus!  We  do  not  pay 
any  attention  to  her  fault-finding;  it  is  just  her 
way.  She  is  a good  woman,  a good  servant  and  I 
place  great  confidence  in  her.” 


ELVIRA 


161 


“ It  is  not  that  I am  alone  in  that.  Certainly 
they  are  many  who  leave  my  Senora  for  that  woman’s 
tongue.  Is  it  not  the  truth?  ” 

“ That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter,  Socorro. 
If  the  young  girls  that  I have  tried  do  quarrel  with 
the  cook,  you  should  show  more  sense.  You  are  a 
woman  of  experience  and  should  have  patience.  You 
are  foolish  if  you  leave  a good  place  where  you  have 
plenty  to  eat,  clean  clothes  to  wear  and  kind  treat- 
ment, because  of  anything  that  Maria  Jesus  can  say. 
Her  sputterings  amount  to  nothing;  she  grumbles 
at  the  Doctor  and  me,  too,  but  we  only  laugh  at 
her.” 

“ That,  yes,  is  certainly  different.” 

“ Well,  Socorro,  you  are  not  as  sensible  as  I took 
you  to  be  if  you  desert  me  now  on  account  of  Maria 
Jesus.” 

The  next  night,  with  many  blushings  and  hesita- 
tions, the  woman  confessed  to  me  that  Maria  Jesus 
was  not  the  cause  of  her  leaving. 

“ I thought  it  strange,”  I replied.  “ You  are  too 
good-natured  and  meek-tempered  yourself  to  quarrel 
with  anyone.  What,  then,  is  the  cause?  ” 

She  confided  with  whispers,  nods  and  giggles  that 
a certain  bai’efooted  butcher,  much  given  to  drink 
(not  that  she  mentioned  bare  feet  and  liquor;  I 
learned  of  these  facts  later),  wished  to  set  her  up 
in  a little  hut  of  her  own. 

“ Oh,  Socorro,”  I gasped.  “ At  your  age ! With 
a grown  daughter  in  this  very  city  and  seven  other 
living  children  somewhere  on  earth,  not  to  mention 
the  two  in  heaven ! Woman,  what  can  you  be  think- 
ing of?  ” 

Socorro’s  nature  ever  showed  itself  as  April 
weather;  a dash  of  rain  could  be  expected  at  any 


162 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


time  between  the  floods  of  sunshine.  Now  the  tears 
vanquished  the  smiles  and  poured  themselves  copi- 
ously over  the  little  white  beds  of  the  children. 

“ Oh,  Senora,  it  is  just  that.  Those  children  of 
mine,  I miss  them  so ! I want  another  little  baby  in 
my  arms.  I leave  tomorrow,  Senora.” 

On  the  morrow  she  departed,  as  radiant  and  happy 
as  any  bride  ought  to  be ! 

It  had  been  nearly  a year  since  Elvira  left  us 
after  her  last  fight  with  Luis.  At  first  she  frequently 
returned  to  visit  me.  When  Baby  Boy  came  she 
hurried  in,  dressed  in  her  starchiest,  to  congratulate 
me  and  to  “ know  the  new  baby.”  On  that  occasion 
she  wore  a thin  gold  chain  from  which  was  sus- 
pended a jeweled  cross.  Although  neither  of  us 
mentioned  the  chain  it  loomed  like  a black  wall 
between  us.  I felt  its  presence  every  moment  and  I 
knew  that  she  was  quite  as  conscious  of  it  as  I. 
Because  of  it  neither  of  us  could  speak  naturally, 
and  I am  sure  that  she  was  as  glad  as  I when  her 
short  call  terminated. 

That  night  I spoke  of  it  to  the  Missionary.  “ Do 
you  suppose  it  is  Lozano?  ” I asked. 

Lozano  was  a fine  young  man,  just  approaching 
his  majority,  the  son  of  a jeweler  in  the  city.  He 
was  one  of  our  most  trusted  boys. 

“ I do  not  think  so ; yet  you  never  can  tell,”  the 
Missionary  responded.  “ He  never  looked  at  her 
when  he  saw  her  here  in  the  school  every  day.  I 
think  it  is  a gentleman  from  the  coast,  a salesman 
who  has  been  in  the  city  for  a few  weeks.  I have 
seen  him  speaking  with  Elvira  in  the  street.” 

“ Does  he  sell  jewelry?  That  exquisite  chain  is 
such  an  unusual  gift.” 

“ I do  not  know.  Don’t  worry  about  it  for  who- 


ELVIRA 


163 


ever  it  is  we  cannot  help  it.  Did  the  girl  say  whether 
she  is  still  in  service  or  is  she  in  an  establishment 
of  her  own  ? ” 

“ She  is  still  ironing  at  the  Gomez  home  where  she 
went  when  she  left  here.  Anyone  who  has  Elvira 
for  an  ironing-woman  is  fortunate.” 

I did  not  see  her  again  for  many  months  although 
I heard  of  her  from  time  to  time.  Twice  the  Mis- 
sionary remarked  that  he  had  caught  her  skulking 
down  a side-street  to  avoid  meeting  him. 

One  sultry  afternoon  I sat  at  the  sewing-machine, 
trying  frantically  to  finish  some  garment.  The 
room  where  I sewed  was  also  used  as  a closet  and 
store-room.  Along  the  four  sides  it  was  lined  with 
trunks  and  boxes  each  set  high  upon  an  empty  box 
to  keep  the  contents  as  far  as  possible  from  the 
floor,  with  its  molding  dampness  and  cockroaches. 
Through  the  center  of  the  large  room,  so  that  it 
touched  neither  wall,  extended  an  enormous  rack 
filled  with  dozens  of  hooks  from  which  was  suspended 
all  the  clothing  possessed  by  the  family.  In  this 
climate  it  is  impossible  to  keep  from  destruction  any 
garment  hung  against  a wall  or  in  the  dark. 

In  spite  of  its  size  and  the  open  door  into  the 
court,  the  room  was  stuffy,  dark  and  hot.  I had 
opened  the  heavy  inner  blinds  of  the  one  window  and 
placed  the  two  babies  in  the  deep  window-seat  where 
they  were  amusing  themselves  playing  with  the 
bowed-out  iron  bars  of  the  window,  and  in  watching 
the  constant  string  of  donkeys  that  filed  past. 

I saw  Elvira  approaching,  long  before  she  caught 
sight  of  us.  When  she  attempted  to  pass  without 
greeting  us,  I called  to  her. 

“ How  do  you  do,  Elvira?  How  are  you?  ” 

She  could  do  no  less  than  pause  to  return  the 


164 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


greeting.  How  had  the  mighty  fallen ! This  girl, 
who  a year  ago  was  so  punctilious  in  the  care  and 
adornment  of  her  person  as  to  call  out  Luis’  wrath, 
wore  a flimsy  skirt  frayed  at  the  edges,  in  tatters  over 
the  hips,  soiled  throughout  its  extent.  Her  worn- 
out  basque  was  unable  to  withstand  her  protruding 
figure,  which  had  burst  the  cloth  and  hung  out  in 
several  places.  Her  skin  was  grimy  and  her  hair 
unkempt.  Upon  her  head  she  carried  a small  wad 
of  dirty  clothes. 

It  was  with  a very  subdued  air  that  she  responded 
to  my  inquiries  about  her  little  daughter,  some  three 
weeks  old. 

“ How  does  it  seem  to  my  Senora  Mauda,  she  is 
very  ill.  Soon  she  leaves  me.” 

“ Leaves  you?  Why,  Elvira,  what  ails  her?  You 
are  a well,  strong  woman.  Your  daughter  ought  to 
be  healthy.” 

“ It  is  that  milk ; but  certainly  it  causes  a terrible 
diarrhoea.” 

“ What  milk?  You  surely  have  not  given  her  milk 
from  the  plaza?  ” 

“ It  certainly  is  the  truth.  I put  that  little  girl 
of  mine  on  the  bottle.” 

“ Oh,  Elvira,  you  know  it  will  kill  her ! Why  did 
you  do  it?” 

“ Senora  Mauda  gives  the  bottle  to  her  babies ; 
of  course  I do  it  also.” 

“ Oh,  you  women  drive  me  to  desperation ! Why 
can’t  you  use  common  sense?  You  know  that  I give 
the  bottle  to  our  babies  because  there  is  absolutely 
nothing  else  to  be  done.  Repeatedly  have  you  heard 
my  objections  to  the  diseased,  guzzling  wet-nurses 
that  so  beset  me  with  offers  to  care  for  my  children. 
You  also  know  what  a cross  it  is  to  us  to  have  to  raise 


ELVIRA 


165 


these  youngsters  on  a bottle.  We  had  to  buy  a cow, 
then  rent  one  when  ours  was  dry ; we  had  to  hire  an 
extra  servant,  chiefly  on  account  of  the  cow ; the 
Doctor  and  I wash  bottles,  sterilize  and  boil  and 
pasteurize  milk  by  the  hour.  You  remember  we 
never  let  anyone,  wTe  never  let  even  you,  touch  the 
baby’s  milk  or  bottles.  Do  you  think  that  we 
would  put  ourselves  to  all  this  extra  trouble  and 
expense  if  it  could  be  avoided?  But  }mu,  you  are  a 
strong  plump  woman,  young,  too.  You  could  raise 
up  your  daughter  to  be  a fine  big  girl  and  healthy  if 
you  would  not  let  her  eat  everything  that  she  could 
lay  her  hands  on,  and  if  you  would  keep  her  clean. 
But  of  course  you  will  lose  her  if  you  give  her  that 
stuff  from  the  plaza.  I am  ashamed  of  you,  Elvira.” 

“ Perhaps  it  may  be  God’s  will  that  she  dies.” 

“ If  she  dies  it  will  be  nobody’s  will  but  yours. 
You  will  be  responsible.” 

“ Perhaps  it  may  be  the  better  if  she  dies.  There 
is  not  to  me  any  way  that  I can  raise  her  as  you 
tell  me  a girl  ought  to  be.  I myself  have  not  gone 
in  that  way  that  you  desired  of  me.  You  have  reason 
to  put  yourself  angry  with  me ; yet  it  is  not  possible 
that  she  should  be  better  than  I.  Had  she  been  a 
boy,  it  would  have  been  different.  A man  in  Colombia 
does  not  suffer  so  much  as  we  women  have  to.  For 
him  always  there  is  some  way,  but  for  us  what  is 
there?  Never  have  I in  my  life  known  what  it  is  to 
have  someone  love  me  as  you  love  your  children, 
never  do  I have  a home  anywhere.  Why  do  I bring 
up  another  girl  to  the  life  we  women  have  in  our 
country?  And  how  do  I raise  her  at  all  when  there 
is  to  me  no  money,  no  home,  no  work?  With  her  it 
is  not  possible  for  me  to  locate  myself  in  any  house. 
What  do  I?” 


166 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


God  pity  us,  what  can  I answer  to  that?  There 
is  no  answer,  and  I remain  silent  while  Elvira,  ever 
before  stoical,  wipes  the  tears  from  her  flushed  face 
with  her  frayed  sleeve. 

“ However,  Elvira,”  I resume  after  a little, 
“ nothing  gives  you  the  right  to  kill  your  child,  as 
you  know  that  you  are  doing.  Perhaps  it  is  not 
yet  too  late  to  save  the  baby’s  life.  If  you  will  take 
it  to  Dr.  Blanco  I will  pay  for  the  consultation 
and  the  medicines  he  tells  you  to  get.  You  know  the 
arrangement  that  we  always  have  with  him  for  cases 
like  yours.” 

“ Yes,  Senora  Mauda,  that  thing  I know,  but  it  is 
not  possible  for  me  that  I go  tonight.  I have  to 
wash  these  things  for  the  little  one,  and  without 
doubt  she  cries  now.  There  I leave  her  alone  on  the 
ground  in  that  hut.” 

“ Then  go  back  to  her  at  once,”  I commanded  as 
I handed  her  some  things.  “ Take  these  clean  gar- 
ments, bathe  her  quickly  in  warm  water,  wrap  her 
immediately  in  this  towel,  then  fasten  this  woolen 
band  about  her  abdomen  and  take  her  directly  to 
the  doctor.  When  he  says  that  she  may  have  food, 
you  nurse  her;  under  no  condition  give  her  anything 
from  a bottle  again.” 

She  hurried  off,  but  I felt  almost  certain  that  she 
would  not  carry  out  my  instructions  as  it  was  evi- 
dent that  she  did  not  wish  her  child  to  live. 

This  is  probably  the  most  common  method  em- 
ployed by  these  mothers  for  the  putting  away  of 
their  little  ones — just  to  give  the  child  polluted  milk 
from  a bottle  that  is  never  washed,  through  a nipple 
filthy  and  poisonous  from  decayed  milk. 

A week  later  as  I sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  work- 
ing button-holes,  while  from  time  to  time  I rescued 


ELVIRA 


167 


one  of  my  rollicking  babies  from  rolling  off  the  bed 
where  they  were  playing,  Elvira  stopped  at  the  open 
barred  window.  One  glance  at  her  revealed  that  she 
was  neatly  dressed  in  a black  lawn,  her  glossy  hair 
tied  back  with  a black  ribbon.  The  baby,  then,  was 
dead.  I was  so  deeply  annoyed  at  the  woman  that 
I would  not  mention  her  child  nor  inquire  after  her 
own  health. 

“How  are  the  all  of  you?”  she  inquired  in  the 
subdued  voice  of  a mourner.  Then  followed  solicitous 
questions  as  to  each  of  us  individually.  “ La 
Senora  Mauda?  The  illustrious  Doctor?  The 
Senorito?  The  Little  White  Angel?  The  dear  little 
Baby?  ” 

“ The  baby  is  not  so  little  now,”  I replied,  laugh- 
ing, for  I was  very  happy.  Were  not  all  three  of 
the  children  well  at  once?  A good  fortune  that  never 
before  had  befallen  us.  “ Yesterday,”  I continued, 
“ I had  the  children  weighed  and  Baby  Boy  lacks 
but  five  pounds  of  having  caught  up  with  his  little 
sister  who,  as  you  know,  is  two  years  his  senior. 
He  is  already  an  inch  broader  across  the  shoulders 
than  she  is.  They  look  more  like  twins  every 
day.” 

Suddenly  my  heart  smote  me  to  be  so  displaying 
pride  in  my  children  before  this  woman.  To  be  sure 
she  had  not  wished  her  child  to  live,  but  could  she 
have  had  the  slightest  chance  of  bringing  it  up 
decently  she  would  have  taken  as  much  joy  in  it  as 
any  normal  mother  takes.  I realized  that  the  poor 
woman’s  tears  were  not  hypocritical  when  she 
dropped  her  head  upon  the  window  bars  and  sobbed, 
the  two  children  on  the  bed  staring  solemnly  at  her. 
She  was  grieving,  as  I understood,  not  alone  at  the 
loss  of  her  baby  but  at  the  lack  of  all  that  God 


168 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


intended  woman  to  have.  With  all  my  heart  I 
pitied  her  and  all  the  women  of  her  class. 

Yet  my  pity  did  not  move  me  to  accede  to  her 
request  when  she  ended  the  interview  by  remarking 
in  a tone  whose  studied  indifference  showed  how 
much  she  desired  it,  “ Would  the  Seiiora  Mauda  take 
me  back  in  service  now?  ” 

“ Oh,  Elvira,  I am  afraid  not,”  I sighed.  After 
all,  the  woman  was  a murderess — she  had  deliber- 
ately and  intelligently  killed  her  own  child.  How 
could  I put  her  in  charge  of  my  precious  youngsters 
in  a city  where  any  little  carelessness  or  indifference 
might  cost  them  their  lives? 

However  I kept  in  touch  with  Elvira  and  did  what 
I could  for  her.  At  my  advice  she  went  about  and 
did  fine  ironing;  occasionally  she  was  in  our  house 
for  a few  days’  work.  Of  course  the  Missionary 
wears  white  suits ; but  no  ordinary  dining-room  girl 
can  iron  white  suits  so  that  any  gentleman  would  be 
willing  to  appear  in  them.  The  ironing  of  the  suits 
and  of  many  other  things  was  too  often  my  work, 
but  there  were  times  when  in  spite  of  all  effort  my 
duties  piled  up  until  they  were  as  insurmountable  for 
me  as  Mount  Aconcagua.  On  such  occasions  outside 
help  had  to  be  called  in. 


XXIII 


MARIA  JESUS 

A FEW  weeks  after  the  death  of  Elvira’s  child 
our  Baby  Boy  was  stricken  down  and  the 
doctors  gave  us  little  hope.  We  fled  in  haste 
from  the  infected  city  to  a little  house  on  a hill  two 
miles  above  the  city.  The  house  was  a villa  belong- 
ing to  a druggist  who  was  kind  enough  to  rent  it  to 
us  in  our  extremity. 

One  evening  I allowed  Jova  and  Benigna,  accom- 
panied by  Maria  Jesus,  to  go  down  town  to  see  the 
fireworks  sent  off  in  celebration  of  some  saint’s  birth- 
day. A few  days  later  two  policemen  appeared  at 
the  door  and  produced  warrants  for  the  arrest  of 
both  Jova  and  Benigna.  The  girls  departed,  wailing 
loudly  and  declaring  theirs  the  innocence  of  new- 
born babes. 

The  long  hours  of  the  day  crawled  by  but  the 
young  women  did  not  return.  As  before  her  depar- 
ture Jova  had  commenced  the  Saturday  sweeping,  re- 
moved the  rugs  and  carried  all  bedding  out  into  the 
sun,  as  soon  as  I had  dismissed  the  classes  which  came 
to  me  each  morning,  I had  everything  in  the  house  to 
put  in  order,  since  it  was  impossible  to  pass  a night 
in  such  an  upheaval.  At  dark,  just  as  the  dinner  was 
ready  to  be  served  had  there  been  anyone  to  serve  it, 
a third  policeman  walked  up  and  demanded  Maria 
Jesus.  Very  sober  was  she  as  she  followed  him  down 
the  hill,  but  her  dismay  could  not  have  surpassed 

169 


170 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


mine,  alone  with  three  sicjc  children,  one  of  them 
lying  on  what  proved  to  be  his  death-bed. 

A few  minutes  later  the  Missionary,  white  and 
tired,  arrived  from  his  long  day’s  work  doWn  in  the 
reeking  city. 

“ Where  are  all  the  servants?  ” he  asked. 

“ Three  policemen  in  succession  carried  off  the 
women.  The  two  girls  have  been  gone  since  morning, 
but  Maria  Jesus  just  left;  you  must  have  met  her. 
Benito  and  the  donkey  are  nobody  knows  where,  and 
nobody  cares ; one  would  be  of  quite  as  much  use  to 
me  in  the  house  as  the  other.  What  do  you  think 
is  the  meaning  of  the  women’s  arrest?  Is  it  some 
conspiracy  against  us?  Who  is  doing  it?” 

“ I cannot  guess.  I will  go  after  Maria  Jesus 
and  find  out.” 

“ Oh,  I thought  that  you  would  help  me  give 
the  children  their  medicines  and  get  them  to 
bed.” 

“ Oh,  tuck  them  into  bed  as  they  are ! Don’t  fuss 
over  it.”  And  with  this  man’s  advice,  he,  too, 
departed. 

An  hour  later  Benigna  and  Jova  returned.  They 
reported  that  on  the  night  of  the  celebration  when 
they  had  all  gone  down  to  the  city,  Maria  had 
demanded  some  money  from  a woman  who  owed 
her  and  it  had  resulted  in  high  words  between  them. 
The  woman  had  this  day  brought  my  cook  to  trial, 
— or  to  be  exact  had  had  her  tried  and  then  arrested 
after  she  was  proven  guilty.  The  girls  had  been 
called  as  witnesses,  the  trial  held,  and  Maria  Jesus 
condemned  and  sentenced  to  a month  in  prison  for 
using  violent  and  insulting  laguage. 

“ But  I cannot  understand,”  I objected.  “ How 
could  Maria  Jesus  be  tried  and  condemned  and  all 


MARIA  JEStfS  171 

the  time  she  know  nothing  of  it?  She  has  been  here 
with  me  all  day.” 

“ Always  is  it  done  that  way.  How  is  it  that  any- 
one could  be  arrested  before  it  is  proved  that  she 
is  certainly  guilty?  Now,  of  course,  they  take  Maria 
Jesus.  She  it  was  that  we  met  in  the  city  behind 
that  police  and  with  the  Doctor  following  on  behind.” 

“ Then  why  were  you  two  arrested  if  you  were  only 
witnesses?  This  whole  story  sounds  strange  to  me.” 

“ So  it  is  always  done,  but  always.  Certainly  it 
is  not  that  the  Senora  is  not  believing  that  which  we 
tell  her?”  in  a most  indifferent  voice. 

“ Oh,  no,  certainly  it  is  not  that,”  I hasten  to 
reply.  Although  everyone  knows  that  these  women 
cannot  be  relied  upon  to  speak  the  truth,  yet  it  will 
never  do  to  insinuate  that  you  are  doubting  them — 
they  will  depart  from  your  service  immediately. 
“ Jova,  you  may  serve  the  dinner  which  Marfa  Jesus 
has  left  prepared  for  the  boys.  Benigna,  get  to 
your  duties  at  once.” 

They  hurried  off,  giggling  and  whispering.  Ap- 
parently the  affair  had  turned  out  to  be  a gala-day 
occasion  for  them.  They  had  enjoyed  a holiday,  had 
been  highly  entertained  by  the  trial,  and  the  atmos- 
phere had  changed  considerably  since  their  sobbing 
departure  of  the  morning.  However  I wondered  at 
their  hilarity  when  I learned  that  they  had  not  had 
a mouthful  to  eat  since  the  morning  coffee,  that  they 
had  been  shut  all  day  in  the  close  little,  hot  little, 
oourt  of  the  jail,  not  allowed  to  go  out  until  the 
judge  was  through  with  their  testimony. 

The  tale  appeared  incredible  to  me,  yet  it  was  evi- 
dent from  their  good  spirits  that  the  girls  were  in  no 
trouble.  I realized  that  it  was  Marfa  Jesus,  the  only 
reliable  servant  we  had ! 


172 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


Two  hours  later  the  Missionary  again  toiled  up 
the  hill,  too  exhausted  to  care  for  his  delayed  dinner. 
His  report  confirmed  the  story  that  the  girls  had 
told. 

“ I left  Maria  Jesus  in  jail,  but  I made  her  as 
comfortable  as  possible  and  I gave  her  money  to  buy 
her  food  until  we  can  get  her  out.  I also  went  to  the 
home  of  the  judge  and  was  granted  an  interview. 
He  says  that  I may  take  her  out  provided  that  I 
pay  her  fine,  five  dollars,  and  sign  a bond  that  she 
will  not  use  abusive  language  to  anyone  for  a year.” 
“ The  whole  thing  seems  so  ridiculous,”  I said, 
wearily.  “ I never  before  heard  of  trying  a person, 
condemning  her  and  sentencing  her  without  her  pres- 
ence, or  even  her  knowledge  of  the  trial.” 

“ It  is  the  custom.  Maria  Jesus  saw  nothing 
strange  in  it ; she  accepted  it  as  a matter  of  course.” 
“ How  did  she  take  it  ? ” 

“ Calmly,  as  you  might  expect.  She  did  their 
bidding  at  the  jail  without  saying  a word.” 

“ Did  she  try  to  exonerate  herself?  Of  course  you 
talked  with  her?  ” 

“ Naturally ; before  I saw  the  judge.  She  admitted 
that  she  had  said  all  that  she  was  accused  of  saying. 
She  could  not  well  deny  it  in  any  case  when  Benigna, 
Jova  and  a half-dozen  others  had  all  sworn  to  it. 
But  she  also  said  that,  had  she  been  given  a chance, 
she  could  have  proved  that  everything  she  said  about 
that  woman  is  true  and  so  no  insult.  No  doubt  she 
could  have  done  so  as  the  woman  who  claims  to  have 
been  insulted  is  a worthless  creature  forever  hanging 
around  the  plaza.  What  concerns  us  now  is  what 
we  are  to  do  for  a cook  out  here  away  from  the  city. 
I am  willing  to  pay  Maria  Jesus’  fine;  she  could 
repay  that  in  service,  so  it  would  be  merely  lending 


MARIA  JEStJS 


173 


her  the  money.  But  if  I should  sign  a bond  for 
twenty-five  dollars  I would  probably  have  that  to 
pay  with  little  hope  of  ever  getting  any  of  it  back.” 

“ Doubtless  you  would  have  it  to  pay,  yet  what 
are  we  to  do?  Luis  used  to  help  out  in  the  kitchen, 
but  he  is  gone.  Benigna  and  Jova  are  both  too 
frivolous  to  be  trusted  with  anything,  certainly  not 
with  the  sick  children  so  that  I could  do  the  cooking. 
I just  cannot  lose  Maria  Jesus  at  this  time.  I feel 
as  though  I must  have  her  back  and  that  at  once.” 

“ Very  well,  I will  sign  the  bond  tomorrow,  and 
you  shall  have  her  here  to  prepare  the  breakfast. 
I will  talk  to  the  woman  and  try  to  impress  upon  her 
the  necessity  of  guarding  her  tongue  in  future.  Per- 
haps she  has  learned  a lesson ; we  shall  hope  for  the 
best.” 

Before  ten  the  next  morning  Maria  Jesus  walked 
into  the  kitchen  where  I was  struggling  wildly  with 
kettles  that  would  not  balance  on  the  fagots,  and  as 
she  quietly  took  things  from  my  hands,  she  inquired 
about  the  baby.  I called  Benito  and  together  we 
packed  the  baskets  and  kettles  with  the  hot  food  that 
the  man  carried  to  the  city  each  midday  for  the  boys 
and  the  Missionary.  Never  once  did  she  mention 
her  imprisonment  to  me,  which  showed  me  what  a 
depth  of  humiliation  she  suffered  from  it.  A few 
weeks  later  when  I offered  her  the  wTages  of  the 
month,  she  shook  her  head  and  with  face  averted 
asked  me  to  hand  the  money  to  the  Doctor.  I under- 
stood that  she  was  paying  back  the  five  dollars  of 
her  fine,  exactly  two  months  of  her  wages. 

We  were  never  called  upon  to  pay  the  bond, 
although  I learned  that  the  woman  who  had  brought 
on  the  trial  often  followed  Maria  Jesus  in  the  plaza 
calling  after  her,  directing  attention  to  her,  teasing 


174 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


her,  in  an  effort  to  provoke  my  cook  to  repeat  her 
offense. 

Our  door  is  bolted  and  barred  at  nine  each  evening. 
The  servants  and  boarding  boys  are  locked  inside  the 
house  with  us  and  it  is  almost  as  impossible  for  them 
to  get  out  as  it  would  be  to  escape  from  penitentiary. 
There  is  but  one  door;  the  few  windows  are  encased 
by  iron  bars  an  inch  thick.  In  the  little  house  on 
the  hill  where  we  were  for  that  month  of  August, 
there  was  a tiny  solar,  enclosed  by  a mud  wall  three 
feet  thick,  six  feet  high,  roofed  with  brick  tiles. 

One  evening,  a night  or  two  before  Baby  Boy’s 
death,  Benigna  asked  permission  to  go  down  to  the 
city. 

“At  this  time  of  night  and  alone?”  I asked  in 
astonishment. 

“ Of  course,”  with  an  insolent  toss  of  her  head. 

“ I could  not  allow  it  even  if  I did  not  need  you 
here,  and  I should  think  that  you  could  see  that  I 
do  need  you  here.” 

She  said  nothing  but  a half  hour  later  little 
Benito  reported  that  Benigna  had  scaled  the  wall, 
scrambled  down  on  the  other  side  and  was  running 
down  the  hill  towards  the  city. 

The  next  morning  she  appeared  and  went  silently 
and  doggedly  about  her  work,  as  though  she  chal- 
lenged me  to  call  her  to  account.  I knew  that  she 
would  have  some  plausible  excuse  invented,  but  in 
the  stress  of  the  hour  I scarcely  gave  a thought  to 
her  desertion.  She  did  her  work  well,  was  as  kind 
and  thoughtful  with  the  children  as  usual,  as 
methodical  and  careful  with  their  belongings. 

A few  days  later  I had  no  further  need  of  a nurse 
girl  and  I dismissed  Benigna,  an  event  which  she  was 
probably  anticipating  when  she  disobeyed  me. 


XXIV 


JOVA 

TWO  children,  Maria  Jesus,  Jova,  Benito  and 
the  boarding  boys,  together  with  the  cow  and 
the  donkey,  went  back  with  us  to  the  city. 
Jova  was  quick  and  strong;  she  could  get  through 
with  more  work  than  any  other  girl  I ever  had  in 
her  position.  She  was  a high-spirited  creature,  who 
should  have  had  some  amusement,  some  play,  such  as 
all  healthy  young  things  demand.  There  was  noth- 
ing of  the  sort  for  her. 

I had  made  several  attempts  to  teach  my  women 
to  read,  or  to  sew,  but  always  there  had  been  inter- 
ruptions and  lack  of  time  for  the  lessons.  We  have 
had  two  or  three  servants  in  the  house  who  could 
read  creditably  and  who  took  delight  in  reading  to 
the  others,  as  they  enjoyed  the  adulation  of  an  admir- 
ing group  hanging  breathlessly  upon  their  words. 

After  our  return  to  the  city,  Jova  made  a practice 
of  bringing  the  stocking  basket,  of  an  evening,  and 
of  sitting  on  a stool  at  my  feet  to  receive  instruction 
in  darning  and  sewing,  in  morals  and  religion,  while 
I wrote  letters  or  balanced  accounts.  She  was  always 
quiet  in  my  presence,  uncommunicative. 

One  evening  she  minced  into  the  room,  her  fat 
round  feet  squeezed  into  a pair  of  high-heeled  shoes. 
I gazed  at  her  in  astonishment  as  she  laughingly 
grabbed  at  the  chairs  and  table  in  an  effort  to  keep 
her  balance  and  to  walk  a few  steps.  High-heeled 

175 


176 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


kid  shoes  on  feet  that  had  never  known  confinement 
of  any  sort ! 

“ Child,  where  did  you  get  those?  ” I cried. 

“ A friend  presents  these  to  me,”  she  replied  with 
a giggle. 

My  sad  heart  was  heavier  than  usual  as  I looked 
at  her  in  silence.  These  girls  are  too  good  to  throw 
away  their  lives  in  this  fashion.  I tried  to  explain 
to  the  eager  girl,  disappointed  at  my  lack  of  admi- 
ration for  her  beautiful  shoes,  just  why  I could  not 
approve  of  them. 

It  is  as  difficult  to  show  these  girls  how  we  look 
at  these  things  as  it  is  to  make  my  reader  under- 
stand their  viewpoint.  Marriage  to  them  means  a 
luxury  that  belongs  only  to  the  rich.  They  know 
it  is  no  more  possible  for  them  than  the  possession 
of  an  aeroplane.  Entering  into  these  connections,  as 
concubine  wives,  holds  all  the  charm  and  expectant 
happiness  that  a legitimate  marriage  does  with  our 
young  people.  With  no  sentiment  in  the  community 
against  this  sort  of  thing,  with  life  empty  oL.all 
that  life  should  hold  for  them,  is  it  any  wonder 
that  they  break  the  seventh  commandment?  Yet  if 
anyone  thinks  that  these  girls  are  not  sinning  in 
breaking  the  commandment  he  is  deceiving  himself. 
Surely  the  whip  and  lash  of  suffering  that  falls  so 
sharply  upon  these  young  shoulders  can  be  but  the 
punishment  that  follows  the  blister  of  sin.  God 
knows  they  sin,  they  know  they  sin.  Who  is  respon- 
sible that  these  millions  of  fresh  young  souls  are  lost 
to  bitterness  and  death  before  they  are  fairly  born? 

Several  years  had  passed  since  the  Missionary  had 
been  able  to  leave  his  work  to  attend  any  of  the 
annual  meetings  held  in  the  older  mission  stations. 
We  are  alone  in  our  station,  ten  days  from  the  near- 


A wood-cart.  A saw-mill. 


JOVA  177 

est  missionaries,  and  with  no  one  to  whom  to  turn 
over  the  work  during  any  absence. 

A month  after  Baby  Boy  left  us,  the  Colombia 
mission  held  its  conference  at  our  coast  city,  and  I 
insisted  upon  the  Missionary  going  down  to  attend 
the  meeting. 

“ How  can  I go  now  and  leave  you  at  this  time 
with  the  school  and  everything  else  to  look  after 
alone?”  he  asked. 

“ It  will  be  better  for  me  to  be  obliged  to  hurry 
from  one  thing  to  another,”  I replied. 

He  finally  consented  to  go.  A short  cheery  tele- 
gram nearly  every  day  of  the  twelve  spent  on  the 
downward  trip  alla}red  our  fears  as  to  his  safety.  A 
week  spent  in  conference  with  the  other  missionaries, 
and  he  sent  the  message,  “ Just  embarking,  return 
trip.  Home  in  two  weeks.” 

As  I read  the  telegram  to  Small  Son  I remarked, 
“ The  next  point  from  which  he  will  send  is 
Magangue.  He  will  be  there  in  three  days.” 

The  third  day,  I began  to  look  for  the  telegram. 
The  fourth  day,  I sent  Benito  to  the  telegraph  office 
to  ask  if  a message  had  come  and  they  had  forgotten 
to  send  it  to  me.  The  fifth  day,  Benito  was 
despatched  twice  upon  the  same  errand.  The  sixth 
day,  I myself  went  to  the  office.  No,  there  had  been 
no  message  for  the  honorable  Senora  since  the  last 
one  sent  from  Barranquilla. 

“Are  the  wires  down  again?  Has  it  stormed  in 
the  jungle  and  destroyed  the  lines  so  that  no  mes- 
sages  get  through  ? ” 

“No,  Senora,  we  have  messages  from  the  coast 
constantly.  Look  you,  here  is  one  that  has  come 
for  the  Senora  Victoria  from  her  son.  See  what  it 
says.” 


178 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ Thank  you,  I do  not  care  to  see  what  it  says. 
If  a message  comes  for  me  will  you  send  it  over 
immediately?  If  it  arrives  in  the  night,  I will  pay 
the  extra  for  night  delivery.” 

“ Yes,  Senora,  be  sure  that  it  will  be  done.” 

I turned  to  leave  the  office. 

“ Oh,  by  the  way,”  I began,  as  I again  turned  to 
the  window,  “ has  there  been  any  news  of  a wreck 
on  the  Magdalena?  No  boat  has  suffered  disaster 
lately?  ” 

“ No,  Senora.  The  river  is  low,  but  no  boat  has 
been  wrecked  these  six  months.” 

Of  course  the  wireless  telephone  communicated  to 
everyone  that  the  Missionary  had  started  up  the 
river,  had  not  been  heard  from  since,  and  that  the 
Senora  Mauda  was  too  worried  to  eat  or  sleep. 
Friends  flocked  in;  came  before  dark  and  stayed 
until  eleven  o’clock  at  night,  until  twelve  o’clock, 
until  one  o’clock.  Before  daylight  the  ponderous 
door-bell  rent  the  air  with  its  murderous  tones  and 
when  Benito  scudded  through  the  corridors  on  a run 
to  receive  the  expected  telegram,  he  was  confronted 
by  some  servant  sent  by  a solicitous  friend  to 
inquire,  “ Has  the  Senora  Mauda  yet  heard  from  the 
Doctor?  This  night  did  she  sleep?” 

Seven,  eight,  nine  days,  dragged  by  their  blighting 
length,  followed  by  their  endless  nights.  Market 
lists  were  prepared,  purchases  inspected,  laundry 
counted,  recounted,  ironed  and  counted  again,  two 
ailing  children,  with  their  hourly  demands  attended 
to,  a sick  boarder  waited  upon,  classes  taught  from 
seven  in  the  morning  until  four  in  the  afternoon, 
money  paid  out,  money  received  in,  five  account  books 
carefully  watched,  peace  preserved  between  boarders, 
— and  under  and  over  and  around  it  all  the  constant 


JOVA  179 

listening  for  the  telegraph  boy  and  the  frequent 
despatching  of  Benito  to  the  office. 

It  came  at  last — the  telegram — signed  by  a 
strange  name.  Missionary  sick,  malignant  fever, 
little  hope,  no  doctor  on  ship,  none  nearer  than 
Honda,  too  ill  to  be  put  off  at  Puerto  Wilches,  would 
be  taken  up  to  Honda. 

“ In  three  days  the  Senora  hears  from  Honda. 
Be  glad  that  he  lives  today,”  thus  my  friends  encour- 
aged me. 

Three  days,  four  days,  five  days,  six  days  ; it  grew 
unbearable.  The  ship  must  have  reached  Honda 
long  since;  why  did  we  not  hear?  It  is  so  easy  to 
die  on  the  river  in  the  heat  and  be  buried  on  the  low 
sandy  bank.  That  soil  is  already  hallowed  by  the 
bones  of  one  missionary.  We  had  begged  for  Baby 
Boy’s  life,  but  the  Father  in  His  wisdom  had  not 
granted  our  prayer.  How  could  I know  whether  or 
not  He  considered  the  Missionary’s  work  on  earth 
done?  How  was  I,  a lone  woman,  to  get  two  small 
children  out  of  that  city,  get  them  anywhere,  in  a 
country  where  no  woman  travels  without  a pro- 
tector? 

My  three  servants  were  wonderful.  I cannot  con- 
vey to  anyone  an  understanding  of  how  kind  they 
were;  a mother  could  not  have  watched  over  a child 
with  greater  solicitude  or  with  more  constant  atten- 
tion than  they  gave  me.  Did  I sit  at  my  desk  to 
work  on  accounts  after  all  visitors  had  at  last  gone, 
Jova  brought  her  stool  and  sat  comfortingly  near 
me,  “ In  order  that  my  Senora  may  know  that  I am 
here  at  the  side  of  her  should  she  want  anything.” 

“But  what  could  I need  at  this  late  hour,  Jova? 
You  should  be  taking  your  rest  after  so  hard  a day’s 
work.” 


180 


THE  LEAST  OF  THESE 


“ It  is  here  that  I stay  until  my  Senora  is  surely 
in  bed.” 

Both  Maria  Jesus  and  Jova  followed  me  around 
with  hot  chocolate,  their  panacea,  beseeching  that  I 
take  a “ little,  little  sip.”  Each  Sabbath  afternoon 
when  I took  the  children  to  the  cemetery  to  visit  the 
little  new  grave,  Maria  Jesus  insisted  upon  accom- 
panying me.  At  night  when  I restlessly  walked  the 
corridors,  she  left  her  bed  and,  coming  to  me,  put 
her  arms  about  me,  and  weepingly  begged  me  to  at 
least  stay  in  bed.  In  those  hours  we  ceased  to  be 
mistress  and  servant ; we  were  anxious  women  to- 
gether, our  hearts  dead  within  us  from  fear. 

A telegram  from  Honda  signed  by  the  Missionary 
himself  caused  a joyous  commotion  in  the  Colegio. 
The  day  following,  another  message  informed  us  that 
the  Missionary,  who  had  been  taken  up  the  river 
to  Honda,  was  returning  down  the  river  to  Puerto 
Wilches  to  take  the  mules  for  the  overland  part  of 
the  trip.  “ Shall  send  word  every  day,”  the  telegram 
promised. 

“ He  has  started  back  before  he  is  able  to  travel,” 
I remarked  to  the  congressman  who  had  been  send- 
ing telegrams  in  every  direction  to  determine 
whether  or  not  the  Missionary  were  alive. 

“ Yes,  undoubtedly  that  is  true,  and  no  doctor  is 
to  be  reached  until  he  gets  here.  You  cannot  expect 
him  under  nine  or  ten  days.” 

“ But  I shall  expect  a telegram  nearly  every  day.” 
“ God  grant  they  come,  then  ! ” 

They  did  not  come ; not  a word  more  came.  The 
suspense  grew  intolerable.  I knew  that  the  friends 
who,  by  their  expei’ience  in  fevers  and  the  use  of 
their  medicine  chests,  had  saved  the  Missionary’s 
life  on  the  trip  up  the  Magdalena  had  gone  on  to 


JOVA 


181 


Bogota.  He  was  alone  on  the  down  trip,  on  the  dan- 
gerous jungle  journey.  There  was  no  one  to  care  for 
him,  no  one  even  to  inform  me  if  a relapse  proved 
fatal. 

Nine  days  more  were  we  tortured  by  this  agony 
of  suspense  while  the  ceaseless  demands  of  each  hour 
had  to  be  met.  Then  one  night  as  we  were  seated 
at  table  and  I was  dishing  up  the  dinner  to  the  boys, 
we  were  startled  by  the  click  of  a mule’s  feet  on  the 
bricks  of  the  threshold,  the  zaguan,  the  corridor,  the 
dining-room  itself,  and  the  Missionary  appeared  in 
our  midst.  A gaunt  spectre,  lashed  to  his  mule  to 
keep  him  from  falling  off  from  weakness ; three  days 
had  he  ridden  so!  Benito  and  several  of  the  boys 
sprang  to  untie  the  straps  and  to  help  him  down, 
Marfa  Jesus  rushed  for  hot  chocolate,  and  we  put 
him  to  bed  while  Jova  sped  for  a physician. 

“The  telegrams,  oh,  where  were  the  telegrams?” 
I asked. 

“Didn’t  you  receive  them?  I sent  one  every  day 
that  I could  reach  an  office.” 

“ What  took  you  so  long  to  reach  Honda?  ” 

“ Our  boat  was  disabled  and  we  just  crawled 
along.  At  last  we  were  put  on  another  boat,  a 
freight  steamer,  and  finally  arrived  on  that.” 

“ But  why  did  you  attempt  to  come  so  soon?  You 
should  have  waited  in  Honda  until  you  were 
stronger.” 

“ Tomorrow  will  be  Baby  Boy’s  first  birthday,  and 
I kept  thinking  how  terrible  it  will  be  for  you  to  pass 
it  without  him.  I could  not  let  you  meet  that  alone, 
so  I made  a strenuous  effort  to  get  here  tonight. 
God  has  answered  our  prayers ; He  has  returned  me 
to  my  family  once  more.” 


XXV 


COLOMBIAN  SERVANTS 

DRUNKEN,  yes,  sometimes ; thieving,  pre- 
varicating, unmoral, — I have  found  them  all 
this.  These  are  the  sins  of  the  flesh  which  do 
so  easily  beset  us  and  against  which  this  people  have 
no  weapons.  They  are  untaught,  without  standards 
of  excellence,  without  ideals.  Shall  we  therefore  con- 
demn them?  If  a child  be  undisciplined,  we  blame 
the  parent,  we  pity  the  child.  If  a whole  social  class 
be  kept  in  ignorant  childhood,  whom  shall  we  blame, 
condemn  P 

Drunkenness,  lying,  stealing:  these  are  the  results 
of  neglect  of  the  physical  conditions  in  which  this 
class  exists  and  of  the  lack  of  the  spiritual  and 
mental  development  of  their  souls. 

I have  found  the  servant  class  hardworking,  cheer- 
ful under  intolerable  conditions,  brave  and  loyal,  pos- 
sessed of  a beautiful  humility  of  spirit,  unselfish, 
ready  to  give  away  the  half  and  more  than  the  half 
of  the  little  that  they  possess,  loving  and  sympathetic 
one  toward  another,  and  even  toward  the  foreigner  of 
hated  race  and  religion.  These  are  graces  of  char- 
acter which  neglect  and  false  training  have  not  been 
able  to  stamp  out.  I have  found  little  blossoms  of 
beauty  springing  up  in  the  mire  of  the  lives  of  this 
people;  they  are  fond  of  bright  colors,  of  flowers,  of 
the  twang  of  tiple  and  guitar,  they  love  children.  Do 
not  these  show  of  what  the  real  soil  of  their  nature  is 

182 


COLOMBIAN  SERVANTS  183 

capable  were  it  cultivated  and  enriched  by  right 
teachings  ? 

Given  a loving  heart,  a cheerful  spirit,  and  a 
willingness  to  spend  one’s  self  for  others  to  the  last 
ounce  of  strength, — here  we  have  valuable  assets. 
Add  to  these  a living,  saving  knowledge  of  the  life 
and  the  resurrection  of  Christ,  which  shall  supply 
ideals,  and  education,  which  shall  furnish  the  means 
of  attaining  unto  better  things,  and  wc  may  expect 
much  from  the  Latin  American  mestizo.  His  heart 
is  not  at  fault ; it  is  his  ignorance  and  his  neglected 
condition  which  we  deplore. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TRAVEL,  MISSIONARY,  ETC. 


CHARLES  ERNEST  SCOTT,  M.A.,  D.D. 

Missionary  of  the  Presbyterian  Church , Tsitigian , China 

China  From  Within 

Introduction  by  J.  Ross  Stevenson,  D.D.  Impres- 
sions and  Experiences  of  an  Itinerating  Evangelist, 
Lectures  on  Missions,  Princeton  Theological  Semi- 
nary, 1914-15.  Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

A book  charged  with  a spirit  of  faithful  presentation,  and 
furnishing  a mass  of  refreshingly  new  material.  It  provides 
a striking  and  engrossing  account  of  the  inner  life  of  China 
such  as  is  extremely  hard  to  come  by  in  the  long  list  ef 
books  devoted  to  a study  of  conditions  in  the  Far  East. 

ANNIE  B.  GAY  GASTON 

The  Legend  of  Lai-chow 

A Story  of  the  Old  and  New  China.  Illus., 

During  seven  years’  hospital  service  at  Lai-chow  in  the 
Province  of  Shantung,  North  China,  Mrs.  Gaston  often  heard 
the  “Legend  of  Lai-chow”  told  by  Chinese  preachers  and 
Bible  women  in  their  native  tongue,  as  an  illustration  of 
Christ’s  giving  His  life  a ransom  for  His  people. 

S.  M.  ZWEMER,  D.D.,  F.R.G.S. 

The  Disintegration  of  Islam 

Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

“This  book  is  by  a recognized  authority  on  things  Moham- 
medan. The  author  is  one  of  the  foremost  missionaries  of 
the  world.  The  book  is  a challenge  to  the  Church  of  Christ 
to  more  aggressive  work  in  behalf  of  the  Christianizing  of 
the  Moslem  world.” — Christian  Standard. 

MARY  NINDE  GAMEWELL 

The  Gateway  to  China  Pictures  of  Shanghai 
Illustrations  and  Maps.  i2mo,  cloth, 

“The  topics  are  well  selected,  and  each  is  worked  out 
separately,  with  the  result  that  one  who  has  read  the  book 
could  pass  a creditable  civil  service  examination  on  the  city 
of  Shanghai  and  all  that  in  it  is.” — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

ALDEN  BUELL  CASE 

Thirty  Years  with  the  Mexicans 

In  Peace  and  Revolution.  Illustrated, 

“The  other  side”  of  the  Mexican  character,  as  seen  by  a 
missionary — an  old  resident  of  Mexico.  A deeply  inter- 
esting book  which  reveals  the  land  and  the  people  as 
they  really  are. 


THE  LATEST  FICTION 


ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER  uthor  of  * 'Tigs  Is  Pigs' * 

Dominie  Dean 

A Tale  of  the  Mississippi.  Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

“Those  who  like  Ellis  Parker  Butler’s  stories  have  a sur- 
prise corning  to  them.  There  is  no  reminder  in  its  pages  of 
‘Pigs  is  Pigs,’  or  the  other  whimsicalities  of  the  Butler 
school.  It  is  a lifelike  story  filled  with  everyday  people — 
small,  narrow,  prejudiced,  self-centered  people,  as  well  as 
some  surprisingly  bitter  ones.  Among  them  the  dominie 
moves,  patient,  hopeful,  true  to  his  trust.  It  is  a story  that 
comes  dangerously  near  to  tears  at  times.” — Cleveland  Plain 
Dealer. 

“Mr.  Butler  has  told  his  tale  well.  If  it  could  be  circulated 
in  the  thousands  of  communities  of  the  kind  in  which  David 
Dean  lived,  it  would  pay  for  its  writing  many  times  over.*  It 
is  in  Mr.  Butler’s  best  vein,  and  is  enjoyable  throughout.” — ■ 
N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY  Author j>f  "The  Web 
of  Steel,  "etc. 

When  the  Sun  Stood  Still 

i2tno,  cloth, 

A finely  conceived  romance  of  the  days  of  Joshua. 

"Cyrus  Townsend  Brady  has  written  another  historical 
novel,  a tribute  to  the  Jewish  people,  showing  them  in  the 
days  when  they  were  valiant  fighters  on  the  battle  field.  It 
is  a gripping  story  which  will  prove  entertaining  to  those 
who  like  historical  novels.” — Post-Dispatch. 

MARY  CAROLINE  HOLMES 

“Who  Follows  in  Their  Train?” 

A Syrian  Romance.  Illustrated,  cloth, 

The  charmingly  written  account  of  an  American  girl’s  ad- 
ventures in  the  land  of  Syria.  Into  it  are  woven  soft 
romantic  elements,  such  as  becometh  a story  written  beneath 
the  shadow  of  glorious  Lebanon,  in  a region  of  wondrous  sun- 
sets, quiet  sheep-folds  and  the  scent  of  orange  blossoms. 
Those  who  read  and  succumbed  to  the  fascination  of  “The 
Lady  of  the  Decoration,”  may  anticipate  a similar  pleasure 
from  this  delightful  volume. 

FRANCIS  GEORGE 

The  Only  Nancy 

A Tale  of  the  Kentucky  Mountains.  i2mo,  cloth, 

A story  of  a Southern  mountain-community,  told  with  viv- 
idness and  power.  The  author's  long  association  with,  and 
knowledge  of  these  people  enables  him  to  write  with  freedom 
and  fidelity  of  the  region  made  famous  by  John  Fox,  Jr. 
Nancy,  the  central  figure,  is  a real  flesh-and-blood  character, 
as  indeed  are  all  the  rest  of  the  people  in  the  pages  of  “The 
‘wnly  Nancy.” 


BIOGRAPHY 


BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON 

The  Life  and  Times  of  Booker  T. 
Washington 

By  B.  F.  Riley,  D.D.,  Author  of  “The  White  Man’s 
Burden,”  etc.  Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

This  authentic  Life  of  the  negro  slave  who  rose,  against 
overwhelming  odds,  to  the  conspicuous  position  he  occupied, 
is  unique  among  biographies  in  American  history.  The  author 
has  succeeded  in  portraying  this  wonderful  life  with  frank- 
ness and  fairness  and  with  fidelity  to  the  times  to  which  the 
history  takes  him. 

THOMAS  J.  ARNOLD 

The  Early  Life  and  Letters  of  General 
Thomas  J.  Jackson  (Stonewall  Jackson) 

A Biography  by  His  Nephew.  Illustrated,  i2mo, 
cloth, 

Many  biographies  of  Stonewall  Jackson  have  appeared,  but 
none  has  devoted  itself  to  the  part  in  his  life  covered  by  the 
present  volume.  The  object  of  the  new  work  is  to  reveal 
something  of  his  early  life  and  to  preserve  in  a permanent 
form  such  facts  as  will  be  of  interest  to  his  admirers. 

JOHN  OTIS  BARROWS 

In  the  Land  of  Ararat 

A Sketch  of  the  Life  of  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Freeman 
Barrows  Ussher.  Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

A tender  little  biography.  A record  of  a life  of  great  use- 
fulness, splendidly  crowned  by  its  being  freely  laid  down  in 
the  spirit  of  Him  who  “came  not  to  be  ministered  unto  but  to 
minister.” 

BASIL  M ATH EH S A Papular  Life  of  the  Apostle  Paul 

Paul  the  Dauntless 

The  Course  of  a Great  Adventure.  Illustrated, 
8vo,  cloth,  ■ 

A life-story  of  St.  Paul  which  strikes  a new  note  and  is 
told  in  a new  vein.  It  paraphrases  the  life  of  the  great 
Apostle,  as  it  depicts  a man  of  gallant  spirit,  faring  forth  on 
a great  adventure.  Without  distorting  the  historic  narrative 
the  author  fills  in  the  blanks  with  brightly  written  incidents. 
It  is  a book  of  real  and  sustained  pleasure. 

MRS.  PERCY  V.  PENNYBACKER 

Mrs.  Percy  V.  Pennybacker 

An  Appreciation,  by  Helen  Knox.  Illustrated, 
i2mo,  cloth, 

“Ability  counts  for  much  in  an  administration but 

tact  counts  for  even  more,  and  both  of  these  qualities  are 
possessed  to  an  unusual  degree  by  this  sweet-natured  woman 
from  Texas.” — Ladies’  Home  Journal. 


MISSIONS 


S.  M.  ZIVEMER,  D.D.,  F.R.G.S. 

Mohammed  or  Christ 

Introduction  by  Rt.  Rev.  C.  H.  Stileman,  M.A., 
Sometime  Bishop  of  Persia.  Illustrated, 

“This  is  a volume  of  large  interest  to  those  who  ask, 
‘After  the  war,  what V There  is  no  higher  authority  on  this 
subject  than  Dr.  Zwemer,  a lifelong  missionary  in  Moslem 
lands.  On  all  points  of  it  his  book  is  replete  with  first-hand 
knowledge.  He  writes  to  stimulate  active  and  united  Chris- 
tian enterprise  in  the  present  crisis.” — The  Outlook. 

DANIEL  JOHNSON  FLEMING , Ph.D.  Union  Theological 

Seminary 

Devolution  in  Mission  Administration 

As  Exemplified  by  the  Legislative  History  of  Five 
American  Missionary  Societies  in  India. 

“An  exhaustive  survey  of  missionary  enterprise  in  India, 
as  that  form  of  Christian  activity  is  affected  by  the  transfer- 
ence of  powers,  authority  and  responsibilities  from  foreign 
churches  and  missions  to  indigenous  organizations.” — Mission s 

MARY  NINDE  GAMEWELL 

The  Gateway  to  China  Pictures  of  Shanghai 

Illustrations  and  Maps,  i2mo,  cloth, 

More  strikingly  than  any  other  city  in  the  Par  East, 
Shanghai  represents  the  Orient  in  transition.  In  a volume 
of  rare  interest  Mrs.  Gamewell  has  contrived  to  catch  and 
hold  in  her  pages,  its  colorful  panorama,  and  furnish  her 
readers  with  a diverting  and  informative  description  of  its 
origin,  manners,  customs,  people,  politics  and  enterprises.  A 
book  dealing  with  the  Far  East,  of  more  than  ordinary  merit 
and  distinction. 


CHILDREN'S  MISSIONARY  SERIES 

Children  of  South  America 

By  Katherine  A.  Hodge. 

Illustrated,  i2tno,  cloth, 

“The  latest  volume  of  the  Children’s  Missionary  Series  is 
full  of  descriptions  and  incidents  of  life  and  adventure  l« 
the  ‘continent  of  opportunity.’  ” — Christian  Intelligencer. 


Children  of  Wild  Australia 
Herbert  Pitts 
Children  of  Labrador 

Mary  L.  Dwight 
Children  of  Persia 

Mrs.  Napier  Malcolm 
Children  of  Borneo 

Edwin  H.  Gomes 
Children  of  Africa 

James  B.  Baird 
Children  of  Arabia 

John  C.  Young 


Children  of  China 

C.  Campbell  Brown 
Children  of  India 

Janet  Harvey  Kelman 
Children  of  Japan 

Janet  Harvey  Kelman 
Children  of  Ceylon 

Thomas  Moscrop 
Children  of  Jamaica 

Isabel  C.  Maclean 
Children  of  Egypt 

Miss  L.  Crowther 


LIGHT  ON  THE  GREAT  WAR 


JAMES  A . MACDONALD,  LL.D . Editor  Toronto  Globe 

The  North  American  Idea 

The  Cole  Lectures  for  1917.  i2mo,  cloth, 

The  famous  Canadian  editor  enjoys  an  established  and 
justly-earned  reputation.  In  trenchant  and  stirring  phrase 
Dr.  McDonald  discusses  the  growth  and  development  of  that 
ipirit  of  liberty,  just  government,  and  freedom  of  individual 
tetion,  in  the  light  of  it3  relation  to  the  Great  World  War. 

EDWARD  LEIGH  PELL,  D.D.  Author  of  "Troublesome 

• — Religious  Questions" 

What  Did  Jesus  ReallyTeach  About  War? 

i2mo,  cloth. 

Unquestionably  war  is  a matter  of  consoienoe.  But  in  Dr. 
Pell’s  opinion  what  America  is  suffering  from  just  now  is  not 
a troubled  conscience  so  much  as  an  untroubled  conscience. 
That  is  why  this  booh  does  not  stop  with  clearing  up  trouble- 
some questions. 

ARTHUR  J.  BROWN,  D.D  Authorof"  Unity  and  Missions" 

1 “ The  Foreign  Missionary,"  ets. 

Russia  in  Transformation 

i2mo,  cloth. 

Years  may  pass  before  New  Russia  will  settle  down  to 
stability  of  life  and  administration.  Meanwhile  we  may  be 
helped  to  understand  the  situation  and  have  a deeper  sym- 
pathy with  Russian  brethren,  if  we  study  the  conditions  lead- 
ing up  to  the  Revolution  and  mind  ourselves  of  fundamental 
characteristics  which  will  undoubtedly  affect  New  Russia  re- 
gardless of  the  immediate  outcome.  The  book  is  most  timely. 

R.  A.  TORRES,  D.D.  Supt.  Los  Angeles  Bible  Institute 

The  Voice  of  God  in  the  Present  Hour 

i2mo,  cloth, 

A new  collection  of  sermons  by  the  famous  pastor-evan- 
gelist. They  contain  stirring  gospel  appeals  and  also  special 
messages  of  enheartenment  for  those  who  find  themselves 
perplexed  and  bewildered  by  the  war  conditions  existing  in 
this  and  other  lands. 

JAMES  M.  GRAY,  D.D.  ..  _Deanofthe 

Moody  Btble  Institute,  Chieage 

Prophecy  and  the  Lord’s  Return 

i2mo,  cloth, 

What  is  the  purpose  of  God  in  connection  with  the  present 
international  cataclysm.  Does  prophecy  deal  with  the  world 
to-day.  The  author,  Dean  of  the  Moody  Bible  Institute,  of / 
Chicago,  is  well-known  as  a Bible  student  and  expositor, 
whose  writings  find  appreciation  throughout  the  Christian 
world.  Dr.  Grey’s  chapters  have  unusual  interest  at  this  time. 


BIOGRAPHY  AND  MEMOIR 


ERVIN  S.  CHAPMAN , D.D. 

Latent  Light  on  Abraham  Lincoln 

and  War  Time  Memories 

Large,  8vo,  illustrated,  cloth,  gilt  top, 

Edition  de  luxe,  in  two  volumes,  net  $5.00. 

This  work  is  the  product  of  more  than  half  a century  of 
diligent  preparation  and  labor.  It  is  added  to  the  vast  Lincoln 
library  in  the  belief  that  it  contains  much  fresh  and  therefore 
unpublished  information  relative  to  Abraham  Lincoln  and  the 
men  and  events  of  his  day. 

S.  EARLE  PURINTON 

Petain,  The  Prepared  wuhan 

With  Frontispiece.  i2mo,  boards, 

A remarkable  study  of  the  gallant  defender  of  Verdun,  now 
generalissimo  of  the  French  Army.  Mr.  Purinton’s  vivid 
analysis  puts  its  finger  on  the  outstanding  characteristics  of 
the  great  Frenchman,  and  deduces  therefrom  lessons  which 
might  with  profit  be  taken  to  heart  by  all. 

CLARA  E.  LAUGHLIN  Author  of 

1 ■ — Everybody  s Lonesome,  etc. 

Reminiscences  of  James  Whitcomb  Riley 

Illustrated,  boards, 

"This  most  human  book  concerning  one  of  America’s  best 
loved  poets  tells  many  incidents  and  anecdotes  about  Riley 
not  previously  published.  There  are  also  clever  notes  and 
fragments  of  verse  which  Miss  Laughlin  has  preserved  dur- 
ing the  quarter  century  she  enjoyed  friendship  with  the  poet.” 
— The  Continent. 

BISHOP  ALEXANDER  WALTERS  Bishop ef  African 

M.  E.  Zion  Church 

My  Life  and  Work 

Illustrated,  8vo,  cloth, 

“Bishop  Walters  was  one  of  the  outstanding  figures  of  the 
colored  race  in  America,  and  this  account  of  his  life  and 
work,  completed  only  a few  days  before  his  fatal  illness, 
will  be  readily  welcomed  by  the  large  numbers  of  people 
who  hold  him  in  genuine  and  well-merited  esteem.” — Citizen's 
Advocate. 

JUNIUS  B.  REMENSNYDER,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

What  the  World  Owes  Luther 

i2mo,  cloth, 

All  his  salient  characteristics  are  brought  out  by  the  well- 
known  Lutheran  pastor  with  vivid  directness  and  picturesque 
fidelity.  In  addition,  there  are  chapters  of  present  moment 
dealing  with  Luther’s  attitude  to  war,  and  the  debt  which 
America  and  the  world  at  large  owe  to  the  great  Reformer. 


MISSIONS 


ANDREW  F.  HENSEY,  D.D.  0/  tht  Congo  Million 

A Master-Builder  on  the  Congo 

A Memorial  to  the  Service  and  Devotion  oi  Rob- 
ert Ray  Eldred  and  Lillian  Byers  Eldred.  Illus~ 
trated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

A graphic  and  spirited  record  of  the  labors  of  those  devoted 
missionaries  to  the -Congo,  Robert  Ray  Eldred  and  his  wife. 
Mr.  Hensey  displays  his  historical  instinct,  and  has  been  en- 
abled to  produce  a book  calculated  to  both  find  and  retain  a 
prominent  place  in  contemporary  missionary  literature,  not 
only  as  the  fascinating  story  of  selfish  and  untiring  service, 
but  as  an  informative  work  of  reference  concerning  that  part 
of  the  Dark  Continent  in  which  his  subjects  lived  and  labored. 

GERTRUDE  R.  HANCE 

The  Zulu  Yesterday  and  To-Day 

Twenty-five  Years  in  South  Africa.  Introduction 
by  Edgar  L.  Vincent.  Illustrated,  cloth, 

The  author  knows  the  Land  of  the  Zulus,  as  it  was,  as  it 
is  to-day,  and  what  she  knows  she  tells  in  a charming  frank 
and  interesting  fashion.  Due  credit  is  given  in  this  volume 
to  civilization  (considered  merely  as  such)  for  the  wonderful 
advance  made  in  late  years  in  the  condition  of  the  native 
tribesman  of  South  Africa;  yet  there  is  nowhere  any  doubt 
in  the  mind  of  its  author  as  to  the  Gospel  of  Christ  having 
been  the  chief,  and  primal  cause  of  his  uplifting. 

■ SAMUEL.  GRAHAM  WILSON , D.D . Thirty-two  Years 

Resident  in  Persia 

Modern  Movements  Among  Moslems 

i2mo,  cloth, 

“Not  often  does  there  appear  a more  important  work  in  a 
special  department  than  this  of  Dr.  Wilson.  Dr.  Wilson’s 
thirty-two  years  of  residence  in  Persia  and  his  earlier  studies 
in  Bahaism  have  prepared  him  for  authoritative  speaking 
here.  It  constitutes  an  excellent  argument  against  those  who 
_ think  of  missionaries  in  petty  terms.  Here  is  the  book  of 
statesmanlike  thinking.” — The  Continent. 

S.  M.  ZWEMER,  D.D.,  F.R.G.S. 

The  Disintegration  of  Islam 

Illustrated.  i2mo,  cloth, 

Dr.  Zwemer  traces  the  collapse  of  Islam  as  a political 
power  in  Europe,  Asia  and  Africa,  as  well  as  the  inevitable 
effect  the  impact  of  Western  civilization  has  had,  and  is  still 
having,  on  the  countries  over  which  it  still  holds  sway.  All 
this  tends  to  the  final  disintegration  and  overthrow  of  Mo- 
hammedanism in  fulfilment  of  a Divine  plao  of  preparedness 
for  the  evangelization  of  Moslem  lands. 


NEW  EDITIONS 


S.  HALL  YOUNG 

Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

“Do  you  remember  Stickeen,  the  canine  hero  of  John 
Muir’s  famous  dog  story?  Here  is  a book  by  the  man  who 
owned  Stickeen  and  who  was  Muir’s  companion  on  that  ad- 
venturous trip  among  the  Alaskan  glaciers.  This  is  not  only 
a breezy  outdoor  book,  full  of  the  wild  beauties  of  the  Alas- 
kan wilderness;  it  is  also  a living  portrait  of  John  Muir  in 
the  great  moments  of  his  career.” — New  York  Times. 

\ 

S.  R.  CROCKETT  Author  of  " Silver  Sand,”  etc. 

’o  the  Ironsides : A So?  cromweu ay* 

Illustrated,  i2mo,  cloth, 

“Crockett’s  last  story.  A rip-roaring  tale  of  the  days  of  the 
great  Oliver — -days  when  the  dogs  of  war  were  let  loose  in 
English  meadows,  and  “the  gallants  of  England  struck  home 
for  the  King.” — Examiner. 

FANNY  CROSBY 

Fanny  Crosby’s  Story  ?f0™£ee7r; 

By  S.  Trevena  Jackson.  Illustrated,  cloth, 

“This  is,  in  a way,  an  autobiography,  for  it  is  the  story  of 
Fanny  Crosby’s  life  as  she  told  it  to  her  friend,  who  retells 
it  in  this  charming  book.  All  lovers  of  the  blind  hymn 
writer  ought  to  read  this  volume.  It  tells  a story  of  pathos 
and  of  cheer.  It  will  strengthen  the  faith  and  cheer  the 
heart  of  every  reader.” — Watchman-Examiner, 

PROF.  HUGH  BLACK 

The  New  World 


i6mo,  cloth, 

“Dr.  Black  is  a strong  thinker  and  a clear,  forcible  writer. 
Here  he  analyzes  national  tendencies  toward  unrest — social, 
material,  religious.  This  he  does  with  moderation  yet  with 
courage,  and  always  with  hopefulness.” — The  Outlook. 

S.  M.  Z1VEMF.R,  D.D.,  F.R.G.R.  Author  of  "Arabia”  etc. 

Childhood  in  the  Moslem  World 

Illustrated,  8vo,  cloth, 

“The  claims  of  millions  of  children  living  and  dying  under 
the  blighting  influence  of  Islam  are  set  forth  with  graphic 
fidelity.  Both  in  text  and  illustrations,  Dr.  Zwcmer’s  nrw 
»ook  covers  much  ground  hitherto  lying  untouched  in  Mo 
Ihramedan  literature.” — Christian  Work. 


Date  Due 

<|) 

